Looking To The Sky
by Mendeia
Summary: The Death-Knell of Silence Part 5: Donatello has journeyed across the galaxy to join the Utrom Collective - seeking healing both physical and emotional. But as Don begins to build a life for himself in a very different world, he finds evil is never far away, and Don soon learns that his new world needs his help and protection in ways he never could have imagined.
1. Away

Hello all! I'm back from my convention and I'm almost caught up on sleep. So obviously it's time to get back to our story! Barring anything unexpected, I should have an update every Monday to the end in December. One reviewer said that they believed Acts 1-4 felt like "preamble." If that's true, then the time has come to ramp up into the main event.

Personally, I see this whole story as kind of 2 very distinct story arcs, and Act 5 is the link between them. So here we go!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 1: Away

* * *

Donatello's last thought on Earth was, _I wonder if the teleportal will feel as uncomfortable this time around._

Then came the sensation of being broken down first into conscious, distant, lumpy piles of matter, then even further into smaller sections until his awareness of his own body was more floaty and nebulous, a bit like being on powerful, pain-numbing drugs. The feeling of motion, of being, of thinking, became vague and disconnected.

Donatello managed just enough coherence to wonder if this was what it felt like to die.

Until suddenly his body was slamming back to itself, a prickly, wet sensation of limbs and nerves remembering they were corporeal and solid. As he reformed, more feelings and self-awareness returned, his internal clock trying to determine how many seconds the transit had taken, his restored senses beginning to analyze his surroundings.

 _Yep. Just as bad as last time._

Donatello opened his eyes on the Utrom Homeworld.

Beside him, Leatherhead actually stumbled backwards until his legs hit one of the metal boxes the three had packed and brought to the pickup coordinates. Leatherhead sank down onto the crate which bowed under his weight but did not collapse, his breathing suddenly quickened.

"I'm...here at last? The home of my people?" he whispered.

The room was dome-shaped, high and pulsing with life. But where the TCRI building in Manhattan had been dimly lit and its colors a sickly sort of yellowish palette, this room was pleasantly bright and the colors were more vibrant. The bio-technology Donatello remembered from the Utrom base on Earth here was far more advanced and far more delicate. The room was lined with computers and monitors and sensors, and yet it reminded him more than anything else of being inside an egg.

The next instant, a nearby door opened and several Utrom on their floating discs entered.

Leatherhead's eyes widened and Don spotted wetness gathering in them. His shock vanished and he jumped to his feet, rushing to them.

But when he spoke, it was not anything Donatello could understand. He paused in his instinctive action to join his friend, suddenly unsure.

Zayton beside him said, "You have not yet had the opportunity to learn the Utrom language, have you?"

Don shook his head. "No. When we met them, they all spoke English."

"Ah, yes, because you were primarily interacting with Mortu's agents who were required to operate in public for the duration of their time on Earth. Most of the scientists from the stranded ship did not bother to learn English when they moved to New York, and some spoke little Japanese as well. Their own language is rather different. They will understand you, however." He patted the turtle's shoulder. "And we will see about getting you a proper translator soon as well."

Donatello's mouth twitched as he remembered the breather that he had used while in the Triceraton Arena. He hoped this translator wouldn't itch the way that one had.

"So, do the Utrom breathe oxygen like we do? I guess I didn't realize they might have adapted to survive on Earth differently than their native world."

"They breathe several different chemicals, but they are not harmed by oxygen in the air for it is naturally occurring on this planet," the Professor answered. "They are aware of Earth species' respiratory needs, however, and arranged for us to arrive in a chamber which would be comfortable for you and Leatherhead."

"Oh. That's nice of them."

But then, for the week Donatello had been preparing to leave Earth and join his friends with the Utrom, the alien people had been nothing but nice. All communications had gone directly through Zayton's robot body for reasons to do with unscrambling the messages which neither side wanted interpreted by any authorities on Earth or elsewhere – thankfully, Professor Honn'i'kedt had been with the Utrom long enough to know their codes and could translate easily.

Once Leatherhead and Zayton had explained to the Utrom their desire to rejoin the Collective and to bring Donatello with them, the alien people had offered their finest hospitality to all three. Zayton's lab was all he required in terms of living quarters since he had neither need to sleep nor eat, but rooms were immediately arranged for Leatherhead and Donatello. In fact, Donatello learned that the Utrom equivalent of an apartment was waiting for all three to share – which eased his mind; the last thing Donatello wanted was to leave Earth and find himself living alone all over again.

What Donatello did not know was precisely how much Zayton had told the Utrom in his exchanges. Donatello had given permission for his friends to be as honest with their alien society as they wished, and the Professor had taken full advantage of that allowance. Not only had he explained the reason for Donatello's need to leave the Earth in detail, but he had also disclosed the current, worrying state of Donatello's psyche.

The Utrom were troubled that an ally and friend who had served them well in their fight against Ch'rell was so deeply injured and in need. That, if nothing else, would have been reason enough to bring Donatello to where they could attempt to repay him.

But Professor Honn'i'kedt had not stopped there.

He had, again with Donatello's knowledge, also submitted some of Donatello's plans and inventions to the Utrom. If the Utrom would have accepted and helped Donatello out of an unpaid debt, they now yearned for the young turtle to live and work amongst them.

To the Utrom Collective, scientific aptitude and brilliance was ardently sought after and much valued. The Utrom stranded on Earth had noticed that the turtles had shown some ability with their technology, but their brief interactions had not given them much in the way of in-depth knowledge of their real potential. Indeed, when the turtles had been with the Collective for the trial of Ch'rell, they had not allowed any of the turtles to interact with their technology much at all.

Which is to say, they had had no idea of the caliber of mind they had left behind on the Earth.

And Donatello, as Zayton pointed out with rather smug anticipation, was still not fully mature and was entirely self-taught. The things he had invented, the items and experiments he had perfected, these had been done by scavenging alone in junkyards. The Utrom who had been stranded on Earth had taken hundreds of years to get to the level of technology required to return home; if one such as Donatello had been among them, they might have created a working teleportal device decades earlier.

After all, Donatello had invented a functioning, _hovering_ sewer sled before he was fifteen Earth years old.

Discussions were still underway, but Zayton was certain when they were concluded that Donatello would be offered a place at any number of academic institutions, and perhaps even a position equal to his own on the Utrom's highest scientific panel. And if not, Zayton would happily take Donatello as an 'assistant' to himself and sneak him in that way. Once given the opportunity to truly develop his potential, the Professor was certain Donatello would surpass them all.

"I apologize, my friends," Leatherhead said, turning away from his rapid conversation in the alien language of the Utrom. "Please, allow me to make the introductions."

Donatello stepped off the teleportal platform a little shyly, hanging back a step from Zayton. He wasn't afraid, but he felt exposed. He was the only stranger here. It was yet another lonely feeling in the many whose subtle shades filled him all the time now, though he was mostly too nervous to pay much attention to this one in particular.

"Hamato Donatello and Professor Zayton Honn'i'kedt, please meet Uutin and Yxio and Raaq and Walu. These were my primary teachers and caregivers for the duration of my youth. You might call them my parents." Leatherhead pointed to each with a broad smile, opening his long mouth wide.

Donatello made a perfect, proper bow. "It is an honor to meet you," he said. Mentally, he tried to affix the four Utrom in his mind along with their names, noting tiny, nearly indiscernible differences between them. It would be rude if he admitted that the Utrom still mostly looked identical to him.

Zayton bobbed his head and spoke in English. "Thank you for your help in our relocation. It is a pleasure to meet you in person. Well, as far as that goes, I suppose."

One of the Utrom – Uutin, Don was determined to remember – said something in that musical language.

Leatherhead translated, "Xe wants you to know that it is equally pleasant to xem to meet you both and that you are welcome among xyr people if for no better reason than you are my friend and surrogate brother just as I call xe my parent."

Donatello raised an eye-ridge.

Beside him, Zayton said, "The Utrom race has more expressions of gender than the binary system of he and she which is overwhelmingly common on Earth. Thankfully, your language has begun to include gender-neutral versions, and these are what are preferred by those Utrom who are not biologically or socially equivalent to males and females."

"Huh," Donatello said. Then he shrugged. "And I'm a mutant turtle, male biologically and socially, but of an entirely different order of species from humans, so I'm not about to be weirded out by anybody being different."

He thought with a pang of Usagi's world. _If they couldn't handle honorable ninja working in a forge, I wonder how they'd take non-binary-gendered individuals. Probably about as well as they took me, I guess._

"But I do have a question. How come we didn't hear about this when we were here? Or when the Utrom explained their history to us?"

"Because," came a familiar voice speaking English, "we knew so little about you. We did not wish to try your limits for comfort when already so much was changing your worldview." Another Utrom floated through the door. But this one Donatello did recognize.

"Mister Mortu!" He smiled. "It's nice to see a friendly face."

"I, too, am pleased to see you again, Donatello. Though I was surprised by Professor Honn'i'kedt's message. I would not have expected…well." He stopped. The corners of his mouth tipping down, he said, "I am sorry that you found yourself in such a position."

Don's heart quaked and he had to swallow before answering, "Thank you. I'm sorry, too. But I'm really grateful the Utrom were willing to take me in."

"Willing doesn't begin to describe it," Mortu said. "After what the Professor sent them, I would say you may have your pick of agencies or posts within the Collective. A mind like yours can help a great many people, Donatello, and the High Council will be grateful for wherever you decide to make use of it."

Zayton stepped between the two and made a sound rather like clearing one's throat with his voice processor. "Forgive me, Mortu, but Donatello will _not_ be accepting any positions until after he has had some time to adjust and to heal from his ordeal. I will not allow him to be pushed beyond his own comfort at the expense of his health."

Mortu actually floated back a few inches and raised his fore-legs in a conciliatory manner. "Of course. I did not mean to pressure him." He looked up to Donatello. "My apologies, Donatello. Please forgive my presumption."

Don shook his head. "It's okay."

Zayton was still looking pointedly at the Utrom, though, so Mortu added, "Per our agreement, Donatello will be considered a...I'm not sure there is an English word for it. A tuastum."

"A what now?" Don asked.

Leatherhead spoke up. "It means you are considered an adult on a trial basis. You will be given the legal right to make your own decisions and live without the Collective assigning you any caregivers or surrogate parents to watch over you. However, as you are biologically not anywhere close to what the Utrom consider maturity, some things must be approved by your guardians before they are allowed to take place, such as any formal offers for employment. Similarly, you will not yet be permitted to leave the Homeworld without a guardian's permission."

"Well, I didn't plan on going anywhere. But, who are these guardians? Do I have any say?" Don wanted to know.

"Yes, you do," Mortu said quickly. "At the present time, you have three designated guardians but you may refuse any or all of them. If you do so, then more guardians will be offered. You are old enough and mature enough to know your own mind about whom you choose to trust in our world."

"Okay. So who are my guardians now?"

"Why, the three of us." Zayton gestured. "I am, of course, an adult and now a citizen of the Utrom Collective, as is Leatherhead. And we thought it prudent to include Mortu who could also speak for you on a more official level as well as advise you as you enter this new life."

"But if this is not comfortable, my friend, you need only say so," Leatherhead said quickly. "We are your friends first. We will do nothing to endanger this. My own parents would happily offer you the same care they showed me if you wish it."

Donatello was feeling slightly dazed, but he shook his head. "Thanks LH, but that's okay. I'm the stranger here, and I'd much rather know that you guys were the ones looking out for me. I don't mind you being my guardians. You're kind of the only family I have left."

"Quite so," Zayton said. "And though the Collective sees you as not a full adult, I assure you, my boy, Leatherhead and I will treat you no differently here than we ever have. We are merely your advocates."

"And as such," Mortu put in, "I believe it would be wise to show Donatello to the rooms he will share with you two so he can rest. Already this has been a difficult day and it is not even half over yet."

Donatello moved to grab one of the crates still on the teleportal pad, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his shell – Leatherhead's.

"You may leave them. Our belongings will be brought to us by automated delivery later."

"Don't they need to be scanned? Or decontaminated?" Donatello asked.

Zayton shook his robotic head. "Both occurred in transit. Besides, we are what you might call 'special cases.' Leatherhead is as well known to the Utrom as Mortu, and they would never dream of doubting him. You and I have both earned the trust of the Collective, and with Leatherhead and Mortu to vouch for us, we are offered certain freedoms above even normal off-world guests."

"I've never been a VIP before," Don said, and he almost did not think of Usagi's world and his own lack of acceptance there.

"I believe life in the Collective will be very different for you, my boy," Zayton said gently.

Donatello fought a dry tension in his throat and nodded. "Different's okay. I could do with different for a while."

Mortu hovered to his side. "You may also leave what you are carrying. The distance to your new home is not far, but I do not wish to tire you."

Donatello managed a partial smile. "Thanks, but this is something I really don't want to let out of my sight."

He closed one hand to grip the strap across his shoulder. He had rigged the duffle bag from April to have an extra-thick strap so it could take additional weight. But it wasn't the bag itself that was heavy – it was mostly full of the small personal items Donatello had wanted to keep, including a handmade altar for Master Yoshi and a few pictures – but rather what he had lashed tightly to the strap and now carried on his shell in the space usually reserved for his bo. The bundle had been wrapped in a long swath of material to protect and conceal it, and its weight was comforting.

Mortu's eyes swept over the thin package, taller than Donatello. "May I ask what it is?"

"I know I didn't need to bring weapons, so I left most of that stuff on Earth. I mean, I brought my bo and a few shurikens and such just so I can keep in practice. But there were some very special weapons that I didn't want to leave where they could be found. They're...well, they're probably still magic, even if we can't use them anymore."

"Magic?" Mortu blinked.

Don sighed. "It's a long story."

"And one we shall tell only after we have become settled," Zayton said firmly.

"Yes, of course. Please." Mortu turned in the air and began to float towards the door. "Follow me."

Donatello fell in beside the Professor, letting Leatherhead linger behind still exchanging words in the Utrom language. The bio-technology that surrounded him was so very alien, it did much to entertain his curiosity and keep his heart from latching onto any dangerous feelings of loss or loneliness.

But it helped that this trip to the Homeworld so little resembled the last.

When Donatello and his brothers had been brought to the Homeworld after narrowly escaping death from self-destructing the spaceship the Shredder had built, they had spent only a few days with the Utrom, and most of those they had passed asleep. Donatello's memories of the healing treatments given to himself and his brothers were vague and hazy and filled with the sensation of knitting bones and the pain of torn flesh.

He did remember Mortu offering the family the chance to remain on the Homeworld to heal under the watchful eyes of the Utrom doctors, but Master Splinter had politely refused, instead wishing to return to the Earth as quickly as possible. Donatello had wondered afterwards if Leo's sullen, unresponsive temperament had been the reason – Splinter had seen that his eldest son was laboring under emotional as well as physical pain and thought familiar surroundings might help him deal with it.

The part Donatello remembered most clearly was the trial of Ch'rell itself in the High Council chamber, complete with dozens of different species represented beside the other witnesses and advocates present. It was the only time other than when they were returned home that the family had been weaned off the various compounds to help accelerate their healing and dull their pain. Everything else was foggy at best.

So when the group emerged from several twisting hallways into what Don would have called a central square or a lobby or something, the sight that met him was a complete, breathtaking surprise.

" _Wow_ ," he whispered.

"Welcome to the main research facility of the Utrom Science Institute," Professor Honn'i'kedt said. "I've always enjoyed this view. You can even see the High Council building from here. After all, we are now in the heart of the Collective."

Donatello had seen some stunning landscapes in his lifetime, from other alien worlds to alternate dimensions to the distant past to a century in the future. But none of them were anything like this.

Where New York City of 2105 had been multi-hued, towering buildings protruding into the sky like a field of crystals, the Utrom Collective seemed to build out and around a center rather than up from the ground. Standing on a ledge overlooking a series of doors and tunnels that led back into the depths of the Science Institute, Don had a perfect view of the broad portico inscribed with words in the Utrom language that opened into the city beyond the impossibly curved windows that stretched over the entire Institute's dome shape. Hovering above like a moon in the sky was the building he remembered seeing briefly from the outside as the High Council's chamber; Donatello had thought then that it looked like an alien brain and it still did, if highly stylized and artistic.

The roads that linked the various buildings together were winding and curved and soft, like tendons or veins, and clusters were connected to one another through thick stalks that reminded Don of bronchioles in human lungs for carrying air into the alveoli to be entered into the bloodstream.

 _Mikey would say it looks like broccoli_ , he thought suddenly. _All those stalks that branch up to the bulbous, bumpy leaves._

And it did. In fact, the entire city looked rather like what Donatello had always seen in medical shows and the occasional, semi-accurate science fiction movie about people being shrunken and put into a human body. It was as if the entire city were the organism and the Utrom were its red blood cells.

That gave him an idea weird enough to need confirmation. "Is the whole planet alive?" Don asked.

"Yes," Leatherhead said. "The Utrom originally evolved as a means for their world to battle infection and heal itself, rather like our own white blood cells. Over time, they learned to combine their growing technological abilities with the living system that pervades every part of the Homeworld. It is very difficult now to separate them. The Utrom, their technology, and the Homeworld are nearly one and the same."

"So is the planet self-aware? Conscious?" Don stared around with wider eyes, seeing more and more how this was not just a city, but an ecosystem and an organ system in one.

"That is one of the great philosophical debates of the Utrom people," Mortu said. "There are those who believe our planet is merely a more highly-evolved and biologically interconnected world than your own but with no more higher function. There are also those who believe it is far more aware than ourselves and that we are simply not able to comprehend its cognition."

The Professor spoke softly from Donatello's side. "This is part of the reason the Utrom Collective is so dedicated to the ways of pacifism and respect for all life. Their very planet is alive and in order for both to survive, they must both take care of one another."

Don smiled at him. "I can see why you like it here."

"Indeed."

"Come," Mortu said. "Your quarters are not far from here."

He floated over to a platform large enough for Donatello, Zayton, and Leatherhead to stand on without bumping into one another and settled into one of several alcoves on the platform's railings obviously made to hold the Utrom discs. When he and Leatherhead's family were all in place, Mortu manipulated the controls with the metal forelegs of his disc to lift them into the air. He carefully steered them along a marked path out the broad doors of the Science Institute and into the daylight.

Don started to choke.

Leatherhead put both hands on his shoulders. "Employ your breathing techniques, my friend. This will only trouble you for a few moments."

Donatello gave him a mild glare. _Could have mentioned that earlier_ , he thought with annoyance.

Leatherhead's nostrils were folded down and he shrugged apologetically, beginning his low rumble in his chest.

"I forgot you don't have breathing filters yet," Mortu said, sounding chagrined. "This is my oversight. I am sorry. We will rectify this shortly."

But before Donatello even had time to figure out how much longer he could hold his breath, Mortu had piloted the craft into a nearby tunnel which closed behind them. A few moments later, the tunnel opened into what Donatello might have called a shopping mall just from the arrangement of what were obviously stores and stalls around a public area with a variety of foodstuffs being sold and consumed. For the first time, Donatello realized there were many more species than just Utrom present.

"You may breathe again," Mortu said. "Several different members of the Collective rely upon oxygen for respiration, so most buildings maintain a different mix of atmosphere than that found outside."

"How do they leave the buildings, then?" Donatello asked. "I don't see them wearing breathers like we had on the Triceraton Homeworld."

For that matter, Donatello didn't see _anything_ from the Triceraton Homeworld, which was not that surprising. The Utrom Collective was politically and socially about as different from the Triceratons as was possible.

"While an external breathing apparatus is an option, the Utrom have developed a means to introduce the technology directly into the respiratory passages of a variety of beings," Zayton said. "Most of those who spend a great deal of time on any world other than their own opt for the simple surgery to install the bio-implants to make breathing easier."

"Wow."

Leatherhead nodded. "No such implants were necessary while I was on Earth, and with the limited technology available we were not confident that they would work correctly on me, but now that we are here, I intend to have them installed myself. The bio-implants will make it possible for you to breathe through hundreds of different atmospheres that at present would be deadly."

"Do they purify knock-out gas, too?" Don asked, only partially kidding. He thought of the number of times he and his brothers had been gassed.

"Yes," Mortu said. "At least most compounds known to the Utrom, anyway."

"That is something we can discuss later," the Professor said. "We will also discuss translators so you can determine what, if any, surgical options you wish to pursue. For now, let us focus on one thing at a time."

"Yes," Mortu said. "The building above us is a residential dormitory, I believe you might call it, attached to the Science Institute. Most everyone who lives here is a student, instructor, or researcher at the Institute. I thought you might appreciate proximity to your potential peers, many of whom are off-worlders like yourself. They hold regular gatherings to help one another adjust to our way of life, and I am told they are quite welcoming."

"I can confirm as much," Zayton said. "They will be helpful for both of you."

Leatherhead smiled slightly. "Even though I was raised by Utrom, this world is almost as strange to me as it is to you, Donatello. I am gratified I shall not face such adjustments alone."

"No, we're in this together," Don said absently. He was studying the architectural structure, his mind drawing correlations and conclusions, so he did not see Leatherhead exchange a glance with Zayton and a few of the Utrom on board.

Mortu piloted the craft through the open atrium of the dormitory up into the air. The building was shaped a bit like a beehive with rooms on the outside and the doors all facing inwards to open walkways that looked over the common area below. Several similar crafts were in the air, all carefully navigating around one another, and Donatello could see docking stations for them at regular intervals on each level. But not all levels were the same height, which he supposed made sense – the Utrom were only a foot or so tall even with the discs, but other species stood half-again as large as Leatherhead.

Mortu drew to a halt six levels from the bottom on a floor that seemed to be sized several times the height of the level directly below it. "Here we are. You will be in unit number 605."

When the platform was latched onto the docking station, Mortu lifted off from his seat and led the way along the roundish hallway. Donatello counted the doors, as he could not quite read Utrom numbers yet. But he needn't have worried.

The door that led to his new home had a small picture of himself, another of Leatherhead, and a third of the Professor along with words in the Utrom language along one side. Looking ahead, Donatello could see that similar such signs adorned all the doors, though a few did not include pictures.

"This will help others assist you if you become lost before you are able to understand those who do not already speak your language," Mortu explained, watching him. Then he stretched his forelegs to a panel just beneath the three pictures and keyed in a series of buttons.

"The door will now memorize your three inputs so you can open it at will. Otherwise, only myself as your other guardian or someone with authorization from the High Council can open the door unless you open it yourselves."

Leatherhead stepped up and placed his large hand on the door. Donatello watched, fascinated, as the door shifted momentarily from something that looked solid as steel to almost a fleshy texture. A few lines of light emerged beneath Leatherhead's hand and blinked along what Donatello could only think of as nerves until they reached the edge of the doorframe. Then the entire door shifted back to what could have been stone or metal.

"How does it do that?" he had to ask.

"I will be happy to explain to you the intricacies of the Utrom bio-technology," Zayton offered, stepping forward and putting his own hand to the door. "For example, while the door will read your DNA and Leatherhead's, in my case it will read not my exoskeleton, but a series of electromagnetic pulses I am emitting, like a code. The door can also be programmed to read one of the Utrom personal conveyors much like you programmed the security of your lair to read the distinct signature of one of your Shell Cells."

"This is so cool!" Don grinned, eagerly taking Zayton's place before the door. When he touched the apparent metal, it felt warm and yet solid to him, but while its exterior became downright organic, it felt no less steely beneath his hand even when its surface glowed.

As he took his hand away, the door opened to a space that was both alien and somehow familiar.

"I took the liberty of sending along a few design ideas," the Professor said. "The result should be something of a blend of the Utrom standards with furniture like that you are accustomed to from your previous lairs."

Leatherhead smiled at him. "I should say you succeeded, Zayton."

Donatello had been expecting something equivalent to Casey's old one-bedroom apartment before he'd moved in with April; a small kitchen, a basic living room, and a bedroom and bathroom crammed into the space between this door and the next room over. Instead, he realized at once that the floors were much taller than he'd realized from outside, more like two-and-a-half stories in height, and the space was essentially wedge-shaped with the narrowest part at the door.

The entire far wall was made up of windows that looked out over the Utrom Homeworld with a view of the Science Institute and the High Council's building. The main floor was clearly the living room and kitchen separated only by a table with chairs. Donatello did spot a door he hoped led to a bathroom he and Leatherhead could actually use, but most of his attention was taken by looking up.

There was a great deal more space vertically in the unit than laterally, so Donatello could appreciate the logic in having small, hanging rooms in the air above the living space. One had clearly been built for Leatherhead from its dimensions, a suspended, enclosed cabin with a door wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders that stretched like a tube backwards to the windows.

Far at the top of the apartment, back against the window wall, was another cabin which Donatello surmised was for himself. His, however, spanned the entire length of the window though it was not more than a few yards wide. These two rooms had little porches of their own and winding staircases that linked them together and to the main level. Additionally, just below Donatello's own room was a broad, open platform that was as long as the window wall but twice as wide as his room. This had three desks already set up on it facing out the windows.

"You will, of course, have a full laboratory at the Institute or whatever research position you accept eventually," Zayton said, following his gaze, "but I believe we all will be more likely to rest on a regular basis if we have our work here as well. Then, at least, we may carry one another to bed if necessary."

Donatello stepped into the room, blinking with wonder. Lights hung from the ceiling as well as from the staircases and the various platforms above, making the whole thing feel like he was standing amidst a crowd of paper lanterns floating in the sky. And yet there was something so organic about the curves of the railings on the staircases, the tethers that held the upper rooms suspended, the shapes of the steps. It was as different from the sewer lair as a tree is different from a dandelion.

"Donatello," Leatherhead called, "come stand here for a moment."

Don obeyed the request and moved until he had both feet on a small, bright red mat beside the door. To his surprise, the mat began to move.

"Hold still," Leatherhead advised. "It will remove any contamination from your feet so you can proceed without treading dirt."

"It tickles!" Donatello tried not to squirm.

"It does." Leatherhead nodded. "But on the plus side, once it finishes its work, your feet will be as clean as if you had bathed them."

The mat scrubbed at Don's feet for a few more moments before it fell still. He lifted a foot and peered at it. "I'm not sure my feet have been this clean since...ever!" Then he looked at the mat. "It's organic!"

"Yes, a small plot of a native plant that feeds off virtually any particulate matter," Mortu said. "As long as you regularly offer it the dirt and dust from your feet, it will be entirely happy to consume it. Those organic beings who are disturbed by the feel of water or other chemical means of bathing make use of larger plots for a full-body clean. It will even eat your dead skin cells and scales."

"What does it produce as a waste by-product?" Donatello asked.

"A form of electrical energy which is harnessed by the floor," Zayton said. "This is then recycled back into our unit to aid in powering the lights and other devices."

"So if we ever have a power outage, I just need to sit on the mat?" Don asked, poking it slightly and watching as the red feelers that reminded him of the thick strands of shag carpet investigated his finger and neatly rubbed the skin until it was clean. He drew it away before the carpet could get too excited about the permanent grease under his nails.

"That would be one method," Mortu said, smiling, "though I would not worry too much. All our power is generated by solar energy collection, so it does not run out. But it is true that in the course of construction, a building's connection to their local power supplier may be severed."

"Oh, I know _all_ about that." Don grinned ruefully. "I've cut those lines myself when building the lair. Good thing I won't have to do any electrical work on this building or I'd probably break something worse!"

Suddenly Donatello was caught by a yawn.

"If you are feeling at all fatigued," Zayton said kindly, "then perhaps you should retire to your new room. Certainly I do not require sleep and so can wait for our belongings to arrive."

Donatello glanced at the window, "It doesn't look late."

"No," Mortu said, "but it was past evening on Earth when we retrieved you, and while you may have been unaware of the transit, your body will have been tired by it. Though barely midday here, you are likely reacting as though you have stayed up all night."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Don said with a shrug.

"And you have not slept well for weeks." Zayton actually crossed his arms. "Even a nap would satisfy me. Please, my friend?"

Donatello rubbed his head, embarrassed to be called out in front of Leatherhead's Utrom parents. But then Leatherhead also yawned, a huge, jaw-cracking sigh that shook him to his toes. He immediately covered his mouth when he was done and looked down a little sheepishly.

"I believe I am also rather tired," he admitted.

Donatello chuckled. "Okay. Maybe a nap wouldn't hurt if even you're feeling it, big guy."

"I am indeed, my friend." Leatherhead smiled at him. "While I bid farewell to my parents, why don't you decide if you like the configuration of your room? If it isn't to your preferences, we can change it."

Don recognized the polite request when he heard it, and he could guess that Leatherhead might want a little privacy with the Utrom that had raised him. So he just nodded and turned towards the staircase.

"Donatello."

He shifted to see Mortu smiling, and he knew enough about how Utrom facial expressions translated to term this one 'fond.'

"This space was also configured with your particular form of exercise in mind. This is your home now. You may ascend to your room in whatever way gives you the most enjoyment."

Donatello couldn't quite help the smile that warmed his face. He saw the other Utrom looking at him with puzzlement in their eyes and suddenly felt a little more steady in this new, strange world.

"Thanks, Mister Mortu."

"Just call me Mortu, please." The Utrom's smile had lost none of its kindness. "We will be seeing rather a lot of one another, Donatello."

Don nodded. Then he turned to the space above him, the different supports and shapes in the room. Most of his focus was on his balance, his tensing muscles, and inhaling deeply to make up for the slightly different composition of air; only a tiny part, automatic as remembering to blink, bothered with the calculations and estimations of which supports were strong enough to handle his weight.

In one leap, Donatello exploded upwards, landing nimbly on one of the tethers that held the nearest staircase in place – though it was little more than the width of his heel. He did not stop there, however, pushing off and curling into a ball to spin through the air. Cognizant of the long parcel on his back, he did not try to land on the roof of Leatherhead's room for fear he would bump his precious cargo; rather, he grabbed onto its edge with one hand. Then he kicked off the wall and managed a rising backflip that put him in position to land on the porch of his own little room high above.

He landed easily and silently in a crouch, his heart hammering and his breathing quick and for a moment Don felt like breaking into a laugh. It was exactly the sort of thing Leo had always frowned upon in their lairs no matter who argued that it was fun, harmless, or a useful technique for honing one's agility away from the rooftops above. And if Master Splinter had seen it, he would have reminded Donatello that his left side was still a little weak and his balance was still too forward when he flipped in reverse.

But there was no censure now. Below, Leatherhead and Zayton were both applauding and the Utrom were making a whistling noise he guessed had a similar meaning.

With no brothers here to compare himself against, his failings were not as obvious.

Mortu took to the air on his hovering disc and was soon across from Don. "If you like, Donatello, I could arrange for you to practice with the Guardians who accompanied us away from Earth. Their numbers are few, but they, too, have spent a lifetime training. Perhaps you may learn from one another."

He rose. "I'll think about it. I don't exactly know what I'm going to do next."

"I know," Mortu said gently. "But it is my experience that when one is alone in a world that is quite alien, the more one can hold onto those familiar things that remind one of their true self, the easier the transition."

"I guess you'd know, what with being stranded on Earth for so long."

"Yes. And while I am certain Professor Honn'i'kedt will wish to keep me from reminding you of what you have lost, I believe you will be soothed if you can hold onto the ninja part of your legacy. Even as it reminds you of those from whom you have parted, it is still part of you, Donatello." He paused and his form shifted sideways a bit, like a human would tip their head in consideration. "Or do you wish to renounce all things ninja?"

"No." This was quick, reflexive, but having said it, Donatello felt relieved to find it was true. "No, I don't. It won't be easy, but I...I made a promise to be an honorable heir to Master Yoshi among the Utrom. And he would still be a Guardian."

"Yes, he would," Mortu said. "And when you are ready, you may join the ranks to which he once belonged for practice and training. Or in truth, if that is your choice. Either way, perhaps it will be a familiarity that helps you adjust."

"Thanks, Mortu."

"Now, please take a look at your room and tell me what you think."

Don turned to the door behind him and it slid open before he could even touch it. His eyes were at first drawn to the big wall of windows that looked out over the Homeworld. He could see there were shades that could be drawn to block the light, but he couldn't imagine not wanting them open with such a strange, intriguing view to be had of landforms that were also buildings that were all possibly alive.

At the far end of the narrow room was a bed that was wide enough to stretch across the entire width of the space in one big square. Between his door and his bed were shelves along the blank wall, a small desk and chair, and, to his surprise, a meditation mat that looked woven and more Earthly than anything else he had seen so far.

"It was my suggestion," Mortu said quietly. "Hamato Yoshi always appreciated privacy when meditating, and he never liked to sit upon one of our creations while doing so. I thought you might prefer the same."

"I didn't even think of that," Donatello admitted. "But I'm grateful for it. Thank you."

"You will also find that there is storage space under your bed, in the ceiling, and even a bit in the floor for you to use for those things you wish not to keep communally with your roommates." Mortu glanced at the long parcel on Donatello's back. "Unless you would rather display them?"

Donatello shook his head. "No. The fewer people who know about these, the better."

He moved to the desk and slipped the duffle bag onto it, reverently depositing the wrapped weapons. Already he could tell which shelves he would use for books, which for his pictures and gadgets, so he did not bother to open the bag at all. Instead, he untied the cord that bound the cloth around his weapons.

First free of the cloth was his bo, his steady, reliable bo. This he tucked into place on his shell per habit, but then looked up.

"It won't be a problem for me to carry this with me, will it? I mean, it is a weapon and this is a pacifist society…"

Mortu raised a foreleg. "No, it should be fine. Now, if I hear word of you starting fights…" He smiled.

Don smiled, too. "Not very likely. Unless you try to keep me away from coffee."

Mortu laughed. "One of the Guardians said the very same thing upon arrival. Thankfully, we have a concoction that is almost identical to your coffee, if a bit stronger and thicker, and with very little adjustment can be made to your taste."

"Oh good. If you didn't have coffee, this whole deal would be off," Don said with a wink. Then he turned back to his bundle.

Next out of it was a long, slim spear colored silver and purple that hummed in his hand. He lifted it and held it out before him, closing his eyes.

"Byakko, the Fang of the Dragon," he said quietly. "Master of the cleaving wind."

Donatello turned to the bed and knelt. He guessed that he could touch the solid-seeming panel beneath the mattress and reveal something and he was correct – a drawer that was narrow but deep opened. He pulled it all the way out and carefully set Byakko inside. Then he returned to the now-smaller bundle.

Donatello's expression cracked slightly as he drew out the three-section staff that was vibrantly orange and seemed to crackle in the air.

"Inazuma, which commands lightning from the heavens."

He could almost feel Michelangelo's laughter in the sacred Fang as he purposefully folded it up and laid it to rest beside Byakko.

The last item in the pack nearly broke his resolve and his fingers shook.

"Banrai, which can shatter mountains with its thunder."

The chain sickle vibrated in a way that reminded Don of Raph's angry growl. He folded it carefully and set it in the drawer with the other two, feeling as though he had been burned when he shut them away beneath the bed.

Donatello didn't turn around yet, not knowing if he could keep his face composed, but he did speak in a low, unsteady voice.

"I don't think the guys really thought about them," he said quietly, "when they left for good. We'd kept them hidden so long. I don't think my brothers even remember now that we had them, or how dangerous they are. Which is good. I have a feeling the Fangs of the Dragon shouldn't cross dimensions. They're part of this world. Like I am."

He took a shuddering breath.

"I couldn't leave them behind where I wouldn't know if they were safe. I guess I could have sent them off to the others, the humans who fought with us when we used them. But...I couldn't face them and tell them that my family had...well. The Ninja Tribunal entrusted them to the Hamato Clan. So they had to come with me."

"Donatello," Mortu said very softly, "what you have experienced, the loss of your family and your grief...I understand."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Don nodded, fighting the urge to cry.

"My heart mourns with you, my friend. Truly. And I know such pain takes time even to face in full. But, I hope, when you have settled here, that you will permit us to help you with it."

"Zayton already talked me into getting counseling," Donatello said. "And maybe a brain scan, too. He thinks maybe I've got scarring from a combination of injuries and leftovers from the Outbreak Virus."

"To say nothing of the Triceraton mind-reader, which is a vile and dangerous instrument," Mortu said, trying to keep from spitting his anger that such a vicious, illegal implement had been used on the young turtle; if he had known of it when the turtles had been on the Homeworld after their defeat of Ch'rell, he would have insisted on a great deal more treatment than had been done. "That is another medical discussion for when you have rested. But I assure you, if there is damage, we will try to repair it."

"I appreciate that. If I can't get my brain working right, I'm not really going to be able to earn my keep enough to pay you back for all this." Don finally turned to face Mortu. "I'm not sure I can anyway. A place like this has to cost a fortune."

"That is not how I see what has happened here," Mortu said firmly. "This room, our help, it is not charity. It is not a loan. It is your due, Hamato Donatello."

Don frowned. "Why?"

"First, it is part of the contract we forged with Hamato Yoshi, and as his heir, you deserve the reward he was unable to claim for himself," Mortu said. "But more importantly, you have already served the Utrom Collective. You helped defeat Ch'rell. You ensured my crew and I could escape the Earth and arrive here safely. And you helped return Professor Honn'i'kedt and Leatherhead to us. If you do nothing but sit here and stare out the window for the rest of your life, we will still owe you the greater debt, young one."

Donatello blinked.

Mortu moved in the air to where he was right across from Donatello. "My friend, I understand that you have struggled of late and that you have been considered the lesser amongst the society chosen by your family. But you are not lesser anymore. Here, once we establish some baselines and bring your accreditation up to where it obviously should be, you may proceed as far and as fast as you wish."

That caught his attention. "Accreditation?"

Mortu smiled. "Surely you don't deny you have done enough work to earn yourself what on Earth would be considered a PhD several times over, do you?"

"Uh...I don't know. I never thought about it."

"Then I suggest you do so," Mortu said, his smile widening. "Our degrees and titles vary slightly, so you will have many options for a proper form of address."

"Such as?"

"In your language I think some would approximate Doctor, Professor, Master, Teacher, Magister, and what would translate to Poly-Doctor, in addition to several titles that have no English equivalent in a scholastic context. At present, I believe you need only prepare and present a final experiment and you could become a Poly-Doctor in at least two fields at once."

Donatello's head swam and he actually backed up to sit on his bed. It was soft, he noted absently, and the mattress or sheets or whatever they were seemed to warm against his skin.

Mortu shifted nearer. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. It's just...a lot to take in."

"I know. That is why I hope you will rest now. Give yourself the chance to acclimate to such newness. In a few hours you can come and begin to sort through the many options available to you. I have been released from my official duties for a time and so can attend to you day or night as you need for the next several days."

Donatello absently pulled his bo from its sheath and set it on the floor leaning against the wall. He crawled onto the bed, feeling his shock melt to exhaustion, and the bed was so soft and heating steadily and he was melting in comfort and he didn't bother to fight it.

"Thanks...f'r ever'thing. I...apprec'ate it."

"You are more than welcome, my friend," Mortu said softly from somewhere above him.

Donatello found the edge of a blanket and burrowed beneath it, almost moaning with the sheer luxury of being completely snug and wrapped in softness and security. He didn't even need to leave a part of himself listening for danger anymore. There was no danger here. There was only warmth and welcome and security.

"Already...easier'n home…" he muttered as his eyes closed.

Mortu floated back to the door, hitting a control on his way that darkened the windows slightly, dimming the bright sunlight so the young one could rest.

"I will do my best to ensure that your new beginning is far better than your former life," Mortu said. "Rest, Donatello. Welcome to your future."


	2. Help

I have an exciting announcement to make at some point, but I have to wait until the organization in question gets their site updated. Until then, a few neat things about this series.

First, this Arc has the longest chapters overall by a lot – almost 2,500 words more per chapter than Arc 4. I had a lot of arguments with myself about whether or not to shorten them and add another chapter, but ultimately I like the flow of this better. I hope you agree!

Second, user Luck-of-the-Irishmen on FF and 1readerVB on AO3 has commissioned art for this series!

FANART!

Ahem.

The art was commissioned from a user on Tumblr named Sassatello and there is a picture for every chapter in Arcs 1 and 2 so far. I will be uploading them to the ends of each appropriate chapter as soon as I have the time. Tonight would be ideal, but it's unlikely. I'll try, though!

Anyway, all my thanks and love to Luck-of-the-Irishmen/1readerVB and Sassatello for this amazing contribution to the story.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 2: Help

* * *

When Donatello woke from his sleep, the sun had changed position, but was still high in the sky.

 _I wonder how long a day is here_ , he thought. Then, _Am I really here at all? Or am I still in the dojo dreaming?_

 _I hope I'm really here. I'd like to get my head in order so I don't have to worry about whether I'm hallucinating or not._

 _Worrying state of my mental health aside, wondering if I'm imaging things every ten minutes is not the most productive use of my time._

Don roused from the bed reluctantly; the mattress and blankets had been so wonderfully warm. Reptiles were all prone to basking, and even mutated, Don's whole body yearned to curl up in that warmth and never, ever leave it.

 _I bet I get more sleep here than I did at home. Hard to resist my own personal sun-warmed paradise._

Once back on his feet, Don slipped his bo back into place on his shell.

 _I'm sure they're waiting for me. But…_

 _It's not that I don't want to figure out my new life here. But...well. Maybe not just yet._

He shuffled to his desk and opened his duffle bag. Slowly, reverently, Donatello removed each item, setting it where he thought it belonged. His laptop, of course, went on the desk. Pictures began to line shelves between notebooks and keepsakes and a few small gadgets Don had thought too fragile to be stacked in the main boxes. The portal stick, after several moments of thought, he put with the Fangs under the bed.

Lastly, he pulled out the butsudan altar for Master Yoshi. He had modified it from a small cupboard so that it had two doors in dark, highly polished wood that swung open, but all packed up it was scarcely bigger than a shoebox. Within the altar was a small package of sticks of incense, a carved bowl for offerings, a tiny vase for flowers – _Or whatever equivalent I find here_ , he thought – and a picture of Hamato Yoshi with his name in kanji to either side.

After a moment to consider, Don placed the altar on the floor against the window wall directly across from the meditation mat.

Even with that little work done, the room suddenly felt much more homey. More real.

More his.

 _Okay. Let's get this show on the road._

Don stuck his head out of his door. He was almost expecting to be hailed as however-many eyes turned to him, and he was very grateful that no one seemed to have spotted him yet.

From his room's porch, Don could see almost the entire apartment, everything but what was directly below him. On the long, foam-looking thing that bore a passing resemblance to a couch, Leatherhead sat, spreading out what appeared to be small balls of varying colors. Mortu hovered across from him, offering commentary as Leatherhead examined each item. Closer to the door, Zayton was opening and sorting their boxes into piles specific to each person's belongings. No one else seemed to be present.

Even so, Don slipped to the floor of his porch and ducked his head over the edge so he could check the area beneath his room, just in case. It wasn't that he expected any kind of ambush here on the Utrom Homeworld, let alone in his own apartment with his friends so relaxed nearby, but Don didn't really like any blind spots in a strange place.

No one was there, and Don resolved to put a mirror in place so he could see the area from his door without having to crawl on the ground. Then he got to his feet and walked down his steps to join the others.

Leatherhead noticed him first. "Greetings, my friend. Did you rest well?"

Don actually relaxed anew at the very memory of that bed. "Oh yeah. Is your bed warm, too?"

Leatherhead's grin was wide and almost dopily happy. "Extremely. I have never slept in such comfort, even when I lived with my Utrom family on Earth."

Mortu smiled at them both. "One advantage of the Homeworld is the presence of so many peoples from other planets. We have access to some luxuries from places with species more like yourselves."

"What, is there a planet of mutant turtles and crocodiles out there?" Don asked.

"They are more like what you might call a gecko on Earth, but yes."

"Space geckos. Huh." Don reached the bottom of the stairs. "Good to know I'm not the weirdest thing around anymore."

"Not even remotely," Leatherhead assured him.

"So what's all this?"

Zayton abandoned the unpacking and moved to join the others. "Some of your many options." Then he tipped his head. "If you do not yet feel ready to approach everything, we can begin with whatever interests you the most and wait on the rest."

Don shifted to perch on the couch-thing beside Leatherhead where he could see all the balls laid out on the table; it was soft in sort of a thick way, like sitting on a tube of gel. "Well, what are the things I have to decide?"

Leatherhead pointed to one set. "Those are all the Utrom-equivalent of brochures advertising the different options for translators. Next to them are similar packets of information about breathers. Over here we have a small number of excellent doctors, any of which will be able to help you navigate your cognitive recovery using both normal conversational therapy and more direct medical means."

"Does all information on the Homeworld arrive in baseballs?" Don picked one up and adjusted his assessment. "Or maybe giant bouncy balls?"

"Only until we can establish you the Collective equivalent of an email account and an online profile," Zayton said. "Then you can transfer your data to digital formats."

"Sounds good. So, what about these?" Don asked, gesturing at the largest pile.

"Those," Mortu said with a pleased smile, "are various institutions which would like to offer you the chance to earn your accreditation with them as well as many offers of placement either before or after you complete your academic work."

"Shell." Don leaned back, taking in the size of the pile. "They...all want me?"

"As well they should," Zayton said with some force. "I have not yet looked at them myself. I believe there are a few in there that I would opt against just because they are not as prestigious as I think you deserve, but you may, of course, choose for yourself."

Don laughed breathlessly. "Talk about an overabundance of riches."

Mortu hovered closer to him. "If this is too overwhelming for you, we need not answer them all today."

But Don shook his head. "I can't...I can't hold back. If I'm going to do this...I need to start now. Like ripping a bandage off. If I go slow, I'll...I might lose my nerve.'

Leatherhead patted his shoulder. "I understand, my friend. Then, where would you like to begin?"

"Tell me about the breathers and the translators."

"Easier to show you." And Leatherhead lifte one sphere from the set for breathers. When he squeezed it, it began to glow. Then, as the glow brightened, it began to project a three-dimensional image in front of them.

Don watched, amazed as the recorded spiel played, complete with words running down the side and details and labels for the diagrams. They words were in the Utrom language, but Leatherhead simply read them aloud.

In this way, Donatello learned about breathers and translators and how varied the options were. The breathers fell into three basic categories; first, there was an external filter much like what he'd worn on the Triceraton ships, though more streamlined and certainly more comfortable. Then there was an internal mechanism that was separate from the body, like installing a showerhead on a pipe, but held inside the sinus or throat, depending on the physiology of the being. The third, which Leatherhead had already chosen for himself, was an entirely bio-technological solution that would be grafted directly into his respiratory system; it was the most robust in terms of what it could filter and how seamlessly it would integrate with the host.

Similarly, there were three categories of potential translators: an external system, a non-invasive internal system, and a version which would become biologically wired into the brain.

"The advantage," Leatherhead said of the most advanced translator, "is that with the one surgically implanted in the brain, it works for more than just spoken language. The one installed in the ear canal works for all spoken language, but it will not help you with reading. It just absorbs what you hear and turns the words to something your brain can comprehend."

"Does it impact my auditory senses?" Don asked, looking at the model. It reminded him of an ear-plug with some wiry extensions.

"A little," Mortu said. "For the average person, it might not make much difference, but we always recommend that all musicians or those whose survival depends upon their keen hearing opt for the brain implant."

"What about the external one?"

Zayton shook his head. "It has greater drawbacks that make it even more unsuitable, in my opinion, because it is entirely reliant upon a remote signal. It is based off the same technology used on D'Hoonib and the Triceraton Homeworld as well as in the High Council's chamber here."

Don's eye-ridges raised. "What do you mean?"

"Think of a wireless computer network on Earth. Now imagine it could be tuned to a frequency that it could actually interact with and adjust one's brainwaves. Effectively, that is how it is done. Because D'Hoonib is a planet frequented by many species across the galaxy, including some who do not yet employ translating technology, it is necessary for the planet to provide a worldwide option. That is how you were able to understand the people of D'Hoonib when you arrived."

"But I don't remember understanding everyone we met," Don said. "There were lots of beings who spoke their own language."

Zayton tipped his head. "Ah, true. To be included in the D'Hoonib language field for general access, the government must have open diplomatic relations with the people of each dialect – or a security reason to ensure civilians can communicate as in the case of the planet's enemies. The same is largely true for the Triceratons."

Mortu spoke up. "The downside of a planet-wide system like that is that it is subject to governmental control, which, at times, could mean tampering or censorship. We utilize it in the High Council chamber when we have guests without translators of their own, but otherwise you will find no such field here."

"Then how do you update the bio version of the language database when you meet a new culture?" Don wanted to know.

Mortu smiled. "The language, once learned and programmed by those who manage the implants, is encoded into a pill which you can swallow. The information will be passed into your bloodstream in the form of a genetic code the implant can read."

"Wouldn't it just be easier to put an antenna on the thing and send an update like computer software updates distributed over the internet?"

"Easier, yes, but more vulnerable to abuse as well. You would not want any government, even mine, to be able to program something in your brain without your knowledge."

"I guess that's true."

It took Donatello another hour of comparing the options before he decided on both the most advanced implants for the breather and translator, the same options Leatherhead had chosen for himself. Among other good arguments for both, the technology fascinated him.

Next, they intended to press on to the matter of doctors. However, in this case, Donatello had much less to say.

"Look. I don't...I don't know enough about what's going on with me to know what I need to do about it." He looked up at the three faces around him, two regarding him with solemn, understanding expressions – the third tipping his robotic head just slightly to the side as if to convey the same emotion. "Can you guys just...pick the one you trust the most for me?"

"We can do that," Mortu said. "I have a particular candidate in mind, but I will have Leatherhead as well as Professor Honn'i'kedt vet her first before we arrange an introduction for you. Will that be acceptable?"

"Perfect." Don sighed with a bit of relief. "Thanks for that."

"Then let us move onto the most exciting of our choices and discuss your future," Zayton said. "I must admit, my boy, I am eager to discuss these options with you."

Don chuckled. "Sure. But do you think we could take a break for some food first?"

"You make an excellent point, my friend. It is well past time for us to eat by either Earth's schedule or the Homeworld's," Leatherhead pointed out. "Let us, therefore, embark on a small adventure first."

Don quirked a smile at him. "How _adventurous_ are we talking here, LH?"

"To be honest, I've no idea. But I am certain we will find out."

The four friends exited the room, following Mortu back into the communal areas of the building. This time, as he piloted the conveyance down, he showed the controls to Donatello and Leatherhead and explained what Don called "the rules of the road, or, in this case, the air."

Once down on the bottom level, Professor Honn'i'kedt gestured to the many stalls around. "Normally, one would have to be associated with the Institute to eat here without paying monetary compensation, but as I do not eat at all, I have passed my credentials into your names until you are settled."

"Sure but, uh, what _can_ we eat?" Don asked. "I mean, what's the definition of 'food' around here?"

Mortu smiled. "It is rather different from your own, at least for my people, but as you can see, we feed many species here. So, perhaps the better question is – what would you like?"

Don almost spoke the word 'pizza' but froze before he could form it and instead said, "Something new and different."

Leatherhead shrugged. "I, too, am curious to try something unfamiliar, but I trust you to choose it for me."

Mortu floated towards a stall marked in a violent shade of yellow. "Then I would suggest beginning with the native foods of the Homeworld. Though this is not of the highest quality, it should be a good sampling of flavors and textures, and none of it will trouble your digestion."

Donatello tried to focus on listening to Mortu order and not at the many curious eyes turned his direction. There was no suspicion or disgust in the gazes he could see out of the corner of his eye, but the interest was palpable nonetheless.

 _I wonder if this is how human kids feel when they go to a new school._

Then there was a large bowl being pressed into in his hands and Mortu was leading him to a set of benches of varying heights. Don realized that he could sit on one and place his bowl on another like a table and chair, but Mortu could sit on the higher bench and be able to eat from his own, smaller bowl while at Don's eye-level. The four settled around the benches, and Don examined his food.

The large bowl was deceptive in that it was deep with steep sides, but many small dishes had been slotted into it, almost like how a bento box had sections, but these were removable and piled vertically. By unstacking the various littler bowls from the larger one, Don saw he had what he guessed was some sort of sampler platter. Some foodstuffs seemed like mashes or pastes, while others were clearly chunks of plant material, a pile that reminded Don of noodles, and, perhaps strangely enough, several large, solid bits that had been cut into the approximate shape of buildings – Don recognized the High Council building. And the foods were all different colors.

And, strange as they looked, something in the bowl smelled savory and spicy and delectable.

"Please," Mortu said, gesturing with a foreleg, "enjoy yourselves. Whatever you like or do not like, we will get you a different set next time."

Leatherhead picked up one of his own shapes – this one of the Institute – and popped it in his mouth. His eyes immediately lit up with pleasure and he began to eat heartily. But Donatello examined his food more critically.

"There's no meat here, is there?" he asked.

"You are correct," Zayton said. "The Utrom do not eat meat. As their entire planet is, in one sense, a single organism, they choose not to consume other living creatures that serve to keep it healthy. But the flora of the Homeworld must be pruned to keep all in balance, and the excess serves its people well."

"Huh." Don examined his food more closely. Then he blinked. "Is that...ketchup?"

"It is a close approximation, yes," Mortu said. "The Legacy Guardians from Earth have been here long enough for their own tastes and preferences to have become something of what you would call a 'fad' on the Homeworld. You will find that many stalls around here carry things which are quite similar to favorites the Guardians helped us recreate for them."

Don thought about that while he took his first bites. Though some combinations were strange to his palette, and many introduced flavors he could not begin to name, most agreed with him at least enough to finish the portion. The one that looked like mashed berries and tasted like coconut, mustard, and toe jam, however, he could not actually stomach. Don noticed that Leatherhead left his bowl of that one alone after a single taste, too.

Now that he knew what to look for, Don could spot analogues of tacos, pizza, even fries in the food court around him, though the fries were orange and the tacos were made of bright blue shells. He spotted one stocky, yellow-furred alien trying gamely to eat its tacos without them collapsing in its hands and he chuckled.

"So, are the Guardians popular in ways other than their foods?" he asked. "I bet their dramatic appearance with you guys after generations of defending you turned them into superstars at least for a while."

"Oh, it did," Zayton agreed, "but that has largely passed by now."

"Though they continue to add to the culinary diversity of the Homeworld, as well as its martial training," Mortu added. "Their instruction in the ways of combat have served our planet's defenders well."

Don frowned as he munched on something crunchy that tasted like banana-pepper gravy and did some mental math. "Let's see. The time differential between time here and time on Earth is pretty significant. I already calculated that I have to head back to Earth to talk to April in about two years and a bit by Earth reckoning to catch up with her at the five-month mark on her side. So, that means…hmm...the Guardians have been here more than twenty years!"

"Not quite," Zayton said. "The time differential becomes less significant as one gets farther from the point of teleportal travel, so in actuality it has been closer to fifteen years from their perspective."

Don and Leatherhead exchanged an eager glance. "Can you show us the equation for the temporal distortion and its declining variable?" Leatherhead asked.

"Of course!" Mortu laughed. "I am so glad the two of you are excited. I hope, when you are both practicing such advanced science on a daily basis you will lose none of this enthusiasm."

Leatherhead laughed, too. "Did I lose such interest in the years I studied with you on Earth?"

"Not that I recall. I believe I said once that I did not know if one with Earth genetics would retain such energy. I was pleased to be wrong then, too."

Don turned to Leatherhead. "Hey. I sorta skipped it during the whole arriving-on-the-planet thing, but you're one of my guardians, right? So how is it that you're a legal adult and I'm not?"

Leatherhead smiled at him. "I am approximately thirty-four Earth years your senior, Donatello, and even now stand just barely across the threshold of what the Utrom call adulthood. Our unusual mutation grants us rather long life and stretches out our youth significantly. My parents calculated that I will not begin to lose strength or vitality for at least another two centuries. I imagine you will be rather similar, though your lifespan could be greater than my own due to the influence of terrapin genetics."

Donatello went still, his eyes wide.

Mortu leaned in, concerned. "Donatello? Did you not realize…?"

 _Centuries. I'm going to live for centuries. And if I'm not careful, I won't even notice them going by on Earth. I...I could miss April and Casey growing old...having kids...dying…_

 _Or I could go back and watch them die, and their children, and their children..._

 _I could live for centuries alone._

 _Alone._

Fog and fire and madness grew in his mind, a whirlwind that cut him off from everything but the echoing, howling wound inside.

Donatello would never remember sitting perfectly motionless, hardly breathing, while his friends called his name with increasing panic. He would never remember Professor Honn'i'kedt declaring to the curious onlookers that he was having some sort of allergic reaction to the food. He would never remember Mortu summoning immediate medical attention. He would never remember Leatherhead carrying him out of the cafeteria nearly comatose, running for the arriving emergency responders.

Donatello knew only the ache of forever and the shards of his heart that would slice him apart within that void.

-==OOO==-

"Donatello? My friend?"

Warmth. And a familiar, low voice.

"Please return to yourself now. Your readings have stabilized. Do not be afraid."

 _I am not afraid. I'm comfortable._

"Open your eyes, Donatello."

 _I can do that._

As he gathered the energy to obey the request, more of Donatello's mind woke. His eyes showed him a room of soft, fuzzy edges and muted light, with Leatherhead standing at his bedside.

"Hey, LH. What happened?" His voice was weak and a little wobbly.

Leatherhead's eyes were dark with sympathy. "You had another panic attack. I believe it was my fault. I am so profoundly sorry, my friend."

Don winced, the meal and the conversation coming back to him. But the edge of insanity didn't seem to creep over him this time.

"Not your fault." Then, feeling himself slurring, "Am I on drugs?"

"A few, yes. Does it trouble you?"

"Not really. Kinda floaty." He blinked at the room. "Mortu? Professor?"

"They are finishing their interview with your doctor," Leatherhead said. "Once Zayton gives his approval, we will be ready to introduce you to the person we would like to help you with this." Leatherhead's eyes closed. "I do not ever wish to see you so beyond yourself again, my friend."

"Yeah, me either. And I didn't even see it."

That drew a smile across Leatherhead's snout. "You should continue to rest, Donatello. You cannot begin treatment until the drugs wear off and you are of fully sound mind."

"Mmmkay." Don let his eyes slide closed, but he reached out a hand. In a tiny, almost childish voice, he whispered, "Stay?"

Leatherhead grasped the hand between both of his own. "I will not leave you. Rest. I shall watch over you."

-==OOO==-

Donatello woke entirely later, his thoughts clear. He found that Leatherhead had not moved and still held his hand.

And though now in the light of drug-free clarity it was embarrassing, Don was grateful for the kindness.

"Hey," he said, yawning. "Thanks for staying with me."

Leatherhead smiled. "So you are truly awake now?"

"Seems like it."

"Hmm." Leatherhead looked up.

Donatello looked up, too, following his gaze. To his left, the bed's frame became a panel that went up the wall displaying dozens of data-points. Don immediately recognized his own pulse beeping steadily, and he could see his breathing displayed as well. But the rest was incomprehensible without knowledge of the Utrom language.

Don sighed. "I need that translator so bad."

Leatherhead gave him a wry smile. "Would you like me to tell you?"

"Yes, please."

So Leatherhead began reading off each measure one at a time and explaining them. Every possible variable of his body was being tracked and displayed, from temperature and blood pressure, to the current balance of nutrients in his system, to his rate of cell regeneration, to his brain function. Don was amazed that the mattress and blanket could take such exact information from his body without diodes or samples.

He was also relieved that most of his body's readings were normal compared to the baselines he expected.

But Donatello was sure there was no way the spiking of his brainwaves was healthy given what it did to his serotonin levels when it jumped.

When he finished detailing the display and all that it showed, Leatherhead looked more closely at his friend. "Are you prepared for more guests?"

"Let me guess. Zayton, Mortu, and the doctor?"

"Correct."

Don glanced at the readings for his brainwaves and sighed. "Sure. Since I could go without freaking out in public ever again for the rest of my life, yeah. Let's get this started."

Leatherhead nodded and touched a new device attached to his belt. "Mortu, we are ready for you."

Within moments, a door opened from the curved wall and Mortu appeared beside Professor Honn'i'kedt. In their wake came someone the likes of which Donatello had never seen before.

Easily a head and shoulders shorter than Master Splinter, the doctor had bright blue, slightly luminous skin and a shock of white hair that reminded Don of every picture he had ever seen of Albert Einstein; it stuck up in random, messy directions, very little of it lying flat at all. The eyes were a darker blue than the skin and unusually round and large for the face, but the face did seem at least vaguely human-like with eyes, nose, and mouth in predictable places. The nose, however, was fat and hooked, and membrane-like folds around the mouth in place of lips made it slightly taller than it was wide.

Leatherhead rose and gestured. "Donatello, please allow me to introduce Poly-Doctor Krian'daren of the Hoolann system. She has been working with the neurological recovery of some of the Collective's most valued allies for many years and is well versed in unusual biology."

Don pushed himself to a sitting position – which meant he would have been towering over her if standing – and bowed as low as he could. "It's an honor to meet you. I'm Hamato Donatello."

The diminutive doctor crossed the floor to him. She made an expression that lifted her cheeks without showing her teeth, which made her lip-folds bunch under her nose – Don guessed it must be her version of a smile. Still, her eyes were bright and overwhelmingly kind.

"It pleases me to meet you," she said in a slightly nasal voice.

It took Don a moment to realize he understood her.

"You speak English?" he asked.

"Some words, yes. The Guardians taught me and I taught them. I speak it for those who wear no translator to help them." She held out her hands. "Your friends have told me of your greatly trouble, young one."

Don looked at the four-fingered hands before him. He placed his in hers, her hands vanishing in his much larger grip, but he could still feel the pads of her fingers against his skin. They were a little sticky and curved, as if the faintest mimic of the suction cups on an octopus's tentacles.

Don sighed and relaxed into her grip. "Yeah. I'm in pretty bad shape."

"Yes," she said. "But as long as you keep courage, there is nothing a bright mind cannot heal. Even with scars, you survive and thrive again. With help, too."

Don thought of Leo's shell and nodded even as a slice of pain winked through him. "Right."

But the doctor saw it in his eyes. "Heavy is the suffering you have known, Donatello. Not the worst I have seen, but worse than you imagined you could endure, no? We cannot begin your healing too early."

He nodded. "No arguments here. What do we do, Poly-Doctor?"

She smiled at him again. "You may call me Krian'daren if you like. Some of Guardians call me Aunt Kria, if you like it too. Whatever makes you most comfortable with me."

"I've never had an aunt before," Don said. "I don't...didn't...don't have a lot of family."

"On my planet, the sister of one's progenitors is a very important person of a young one's early life. She serves as caretaker and guide when more close kin are away, and as confidant. She also regards how well the kin are caring for their young one, and if she is not pleased, others will intervene while the kin relearn how to raise a child healthy."

She looked into Donatello's eyes. "Your Utrom guardians have offered me the position of doctor and healer, but I can guess from your heart that you need more than only fixing of mind and thought. You need love as well."

Don flushed and looked away. "I'm a grown turtle."

"Everyone needs love," she said firmly. "Perhaps the grown mostly of all, for it is they who least often are reminded."

Before Donatello could manage a response, Krian'daren turned. "I would care to request some time alone with my patient, please."

Don peeked without lifting his head and saw Mortu and Leatherhead exchange glances. But it was Zayton who nodded. "Very well. Come, gentlemen. We will be right outside if Donatello needs us." And he steered the much larger crocodile and the hovering Utrom away.

When the door shut, Krian'daren let out a breath. "They mean well, your guardians. But they upset you when they see your sorrow. There is enough upset in you without more."

Don gave a slight shrug. "It's just...I feel like I should be okay even though I know I'm not. And, they're good friends, but...I mean, don't get me wrong…"

Krian'daren made a soft cooing noise and without dropping either of Don's hands, hopped lightly up onto the edge of Don's bed, sitting beside him. "They are not your family, as I am not. You have lived a guarded life, young one. Those instincts run deep and live in all things of you."

"Yeah, they probably do."

"I guess from your face when I entered that you do not know others of my world, yes?"

The easier question brought Don's head up again. "No, you're the first. Why?"

"My people have some gifts unusual to most. Many of my kind are what you call telepaths, but I am not one."

For an instant Don's heart had seized up in terror, but upon hearing that Krian'daren could not hear his broken thoughts and feelings, he relaxed. _Anything_ was better than that.

"Oh?" he asked, trying to cover his momentary discomfort.

"The word in your language would be a physiopath."

Don frowned. "Phyisio...you read the body the way a telepath would read thoughts?"

She gave him her strange smile again. "Yes. I cannot see what you keep in your mind, but I can see your mind. I can feel its movements."

She squeezed his hands and Don remembered what he had thought about her fingers and how they reminded him of suction cups. _Guess I was on the right track after all._

Don took a breath, now aware that she could feel the act. "So...how is my brain?"

"Fast," she said, and Don blinked. "Also deep and complex. But, yes, there are areas damaged by old wounds. And there is the scar of the Triceraton device, too." She closed her eyes and Don imagined he could sense her rooting around in his body even though he probably couldn't really. "Your mind has made changes to compensate for the hurts it suffered as all brains do. But it crowds you out of areas which are barren and should not be. It also makes further hurts more dangerous. A second experience with the mind device would shatter you."

Don shuddered. "I don't _ever_ want to go through that again, thanks. Even if it couldn't hurt me at all, it was…"

Her grip on his hands went painfully tight for a moment. "No mind should suffer such evil, and every sincere healer in the Collective would lay their life to the ground to save you from it. Fear it not, young one. Even the Triceratons give up its use as they remember their better ways."

Don nodded. "I'm glad to hear that. After Traximus said he was going to reinstate the Senate, I hoped things would be a little more, uh, humane over there."

"As they are." Krian'daren opened her eyes again. "Now. To discuss your future. Your guardians tell me you wish me to repair what I can in your mind. But I will hear it from you."

"They're right. I don't even know how many concussions I've had, plus the thing with the Triceratons and the Outbreak Virus. And then I just got poisoned a little while ago, and that had psychological side effects maybe, too. I feel like my brain is like a computer whose components got trashed and the only way it's holding together is with tape and hope."

"An exaggeration, but truth lives in it," she said.

Don glanced down at their joined hands. "You're reading me to see if I'm telling the truth, aren't you?"

Krian'daren smiled. "I cannot read truth from lie, but I can tell if your body knows fear. If terror floods into your blood, I will know we need to talk more."

"You wouldn't do the surgery if I was scared?"

"If you have fear in my hands, your mind is against me. I cannot rebuild what hides when I reach for it."

Don huffed. "Huh. I'm thinking your definition of surgery and mine are pretty different, then."

"Could it be else?"

That made him smile, too. "No, not really. Gotta keep remembering I'm on an alien world. Really alien."

But Krian'daren made a sound with her fingers against his hands. "Not so alien in spirit. Only the body."

A certain amount of tension went out of Don even if he couldn't have said why. "I guess that's probably true."

"Yes. Now, surgery. I know what I must do at first. But your guardians tell me you wish for the translator and breather as well. This is correct?"

"Yep." Don tipped his head. "So how many surgeries are we talking about here?"

"With your permission, but one." Krian'daren released one of his hands and gestured for his head, which Don had to bend down for her to be able to reach. "The implants I do not normally do, but it will be less pressure on your mind if we surprise it all at once. And with you already in my care, I can watch the breather to be sure it does not go in backwards."

Don jerked up in sudden horror. " _Backwards_?"

Krian'daren's cheeks billowed outward and she huffed in and out through her nose. After a few moments, Don realized she was laughing. He started to laugh too.

"Young one, your seriousness is too big. I cannot fix that while I plant the translator, but I will fix it after anyway."

Don shook his head, smiling. "I think I'd like that. It seems like I forgot how to really laugh for a while there."

"Not forgotten. Just hidden. I will dig it out while I do my other fixings," Krian'daren assured him.

With his hand not holding hers, Don rubbed at his head. "Okay. So, what happens next?"

"Next we talk to your guardians and tell them we are planning this. When they approve, we begin."

Don was surprised. "Wait, just like that? I don't have to go on a waiting list or something?"

Krian'daren peered at him with her round eyes. "A list?"

"On Earth, the kind of surgery we're talking about would have to be scheduled. It would be days or weeks before there would be an opening for me to take my turn on the table. A doctor like you would be very, very busy.'

"Ah. For others, yes, but not I. I am...I do not know word in your language." She twitched her nose. "I am...not in a schedule. My time is unstructured."

"You're on vacation?" Don guessed.

"That word I know. No, but a bit. To work here and now is not impeding my enjoyment. I work still, but only as I wish and mostly with you or on my specially projects. I am not resting, but I am not working as normal for me."

"So...like being on sabbatical, then," Don said. "You're still attached to whatever company or hospital or whatever it is you normally work for, but you've taken a break from your regular duties to focus on a new avenue of study."

"Yes. That is closest."

"You didn't...I mean, you aren't wasting your time off for me, are you?"

Krian'daren made a sound Don guessed was like a snort. "To heal could never waste. It is my to be honored to help you now."

"But." Don looked at her closely. "How did you know you would need to request a sabbatical? I only went a little sideways earlier today."

Krian'daren patted his arm. "Mortu has been speaking of you for many days. When he learned of your trouble while you were on Earth, he made the question to me."

"How did he know that Leatherhead and Professor Honn'i'kedt would approve you as my doctor, though?"

She gave him another of her smiles. "Should they not?"

"No, they definitely should." Don put his open hand on the one that held hers and squeezed. "I feel very safe with you. If you can really help me, I want you to."

"Mortu was certain you would feel this and your guardians also. He has great confidence in you with me." Krian'daren added her free hand to the other three. "As I do. We will make strong strides with you, young Donatello. Together. With some surgery and much more conversation."

"Yeah, therapy would be good," Don said.

"But only when your mind can heal in all ways," Krian'daren said. And then, with a quirk of her mouth, she added, "And only when you accept."

"Accept what?"

She blinked her blue eyes at him. "Use your thinking, young one. Why are we alone?"

"Because you asked the others to go. Uh, because I was embarrassed. Because…" Don's mind caught up with his memory. "Oh."

"Yes," Krian'daren said. "For most I do not push, but for you I see the help it will do."

Don nodded. "Okay." He took a breath and found it was unexpectedly tight in his chest. "Okay. I...I'm ready. Aunt Kria."

Krian'daren gave an enormous smile and her ears twitched with it. "Good! All that mind could not be so slow as to miss, Donatello. And now we will make it fast and easy again."

Releasing him, Krian'daren slid to the floor and went to the door. The instant she opened it, three heads poked into the room and Don couldn't help but chuckle.

 _If I had any money, I'd lay it all on them trying to hear through the door. And from Leatherhead's face, I don't think they heard anything._

Krian'daren made a gesture at them with both hands. "Come back. Decisions are made, but approval is yours to give before we begin."

Don spoke up. "And I'd like to begin as soon as possible, please."

-==OOO==-

In the end, the procedure, while long and clearly very involved from a medical standpoint, felt relatively simple to Donatello.

After all three of his guardians agreed on the combined surgery, Krian'daren gave them a few moments together to talk while she arranged for use of a room properly equipped and collected the assistants she needed. All three of the others looked at Donatello with such awkward, uncertain sympathy, he actually laughed.

"Guys, this is what I came here for, remember?" Then, his tone darkening, "It'll be all right. And it's what we all wanted for me, right?"

"It is what you need for yourself," Zayton said firmly.

"Thanks, Professor."

"We cannot be with you during the operation," Mortu said, his eyes wide and concerned. "But we will not be far. We can observe from a nearby room."

"That's okay," Don told him. "You all trust Aunt Kria and so do I. I have a feeling I'm in really good hands. And, trust me, if I'm going to be strapped to a table, trust is all that really matters."

Leatherhead nodded. "Krian'daren is one of the finest brain specialists in the Collective. When your more immediate need has been answered, I will submit myself to her for the same and will rest easily under her care as I have not rested since my last assessment with my own parents."

Don reached out and Leatherhead met his hand halfway with a tight grip. "See? If you would put both yourself and me into her power, then I know it's okay." A shadow crossed his expression. "I'm...I'm so glad that I have someone left to trust. I'm so, _so_ glad."

Mortu shifted until he faced Don more closely. "No sudden declarations from you, Donatello. You will not tell us how you feel, not now. You will tell us when you wake and begin on the path to healing." He quirked a slight, distinctly human-like smile. "It is my experience that those who say grand, profound things expect to lose any opportunity to say them again later."

Don flushed.

Krian'daren spoke up unexpectedly, having reentered during their discussion. "Mortu is correct that you will have other days to speak your heart, Donatello." She moved between the others so she could be seen around their much larger sizes. "All is ready when you are also ready."

A sudden, terrified shiver ran through Donatello, but not of her. Just a general going-into-extensive-brain-surgery-oh-shell sort of terror. He managed a weak smile.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be. And the more I think about it, the harder it is to just do it."

Krian'daren clapped once. "Excellent. This is what I said about your courage. With courage and strength, your fear has nothing."

"What sort of preparation is required for this?" Leatherhead asked.

She looked all the way up at him. "He should remove his head garment to keep it safe and clean. Then he will follow me to the chamber and we shall make him sleep. That is all."

"Simple enough," the Professor said.

Don had stopped listening once she mentioned his mask.

With hands that shook, he reached up to the back of his head and rested his fingertips on the knot there. The last time he'd taken it off had been in the lair on Earth.

Had been before his family broke forever.

Had been when the mask meant something.

 _No. It still means something. Even if...even if we're not close anymore. Even if...we're not Clan. Even if they cast me out. They are still...my family. And I'm going to be theirs._

 _I'm going to honor them for who we were even if it's not who we are anymore._

His hands went clumsy against his feelings, but Don carefully unbound the mask and lowered it. He looked up to see that all four of the others were watching him, but his heart was too caught up to let that mean much in comparison.

Donatello looked around at them while his fingers mindlessly wound the mask into a neat little coil. Before he could doubt himself, he held it out.

"Please hold onto this for me."

Leatherhead accepted the precious trust of the burden with both hands. "I will keep it for you, my friend."

"I know you will. Thanks...bro."

Krian'daren gave one of her smiles and clapped again – and Don understood that she clapped where a human would nod. "Now your mind is correctly aligned. Let us begin before it wobbles."

Don huffed a laugh and pushed his legs off the bed, not failing to notice that there were hands on all sides to support him should he stumble; even Mortu extended the metal claws that served as arms from his disc. But his feet were steady and he felt okay on them all on his own. Felt okay with what he had decided.

Felt ready to take another leap.

 _I owe it to my family to be myself. I have to keep my promise. And to be myself, I have to get my head on right again._

 _I'm never going to survive if I can't get better. And I owe it to myself to get better. I owe it to myself to be whole._

"Good," Krian'daren said from his elbow where she had put a hand against his shell. "Let us begin."

Donatello was barely paying attention as he was led to another warm, roundish Utrom room, this one with all manner of machines and appendages sticking off the walls, as much organic material as metal objects. In the center of the room was a reclining chair. Behind it, there was a taller chair within reach of the equipment.

Don did not _mean_ to snigger at the height of the chair Krian'daren would need to be able to reach him even sitting down, but she swatted at his shell anyway.

A grey being that looked more like a lamppost than anything else Don could name gestured to the chair and said something Don couldn't understand, but he understood the meaning anyway. With a last glance to his friends, Don stepped away from their comforting presence and moved to sit in the chair. It was soft and warm and it made his body melt into instant relaxation without his permission. Don wondered if there were sedatives built into the very cushions being administered through his skin.

 _Way better than a needle. Or being gassed. I hate being gassed._

 _Oh, wait. Breathers. After this, I might not get gassed ever again._

 _That would be okay._

 _Definitely sedatives. But nice ones._

"We will not be far," Mortu said, hovering backwards toward the door. "Do not be afraid."

"Good luck," Zayton said.

"I will be waiting when you wake," Leatherhead held up the mask. "Rest well, my brother."

Don's heart thumped with emotion and he nodded. "Thanks, guys."

Krian'daren approached. "Trust me, Donatello. I ask?"

"I do trust you, Aunt Kria. Please go ahead."

"Close your eyes, young one."

Don did.

And fell into darkness.

But not a silent darkness.

 _What is that? Talking? The wind?_

 _No…_

The sound grew louder.

 _A heartbeat?_

 _Not quite._

 _There's more than that._

 _Something in between…_

 _A song?_

He strained to listen and it brought the song closer.

 _It feels...warm…_

 _Like...a lullaby._

For an untold time, he floated in the embrace of the song, an eternity of liquid peace.

 _I wonder if I…_

He couldn't find his mouth or his throat or his lungs, but he tried to hum along.

 _It's harder than it seems. Like humming a whole symphony._

 _But it feels so…_

The song grew brighter and more complex, still peaceful, but increasingly joy-filled.

 _Whoever is singing...I want to feel like that…_

 _Maybe forever…_

The song became a burst of light and sound and sensation with the force of a hurricane and the gentleness of a butterfly.

The brilliance of a rainbow, the life of a galaxy, the soft warmth of starlight.

The song went on forever and he sank into it completely without reservation.

 _Maybe if I keep humming...I'll learn to sing, too…_

 _I'd like that._

 _I'll listen to this song...forever...if it will let me._

-==OOO==-

"Donatello?"

"Donatello? Can you hear me, my boy?"

"My friend, please wake. It is time to return to us."

Don opened his eyes, feeling the brilliance of the song's welcome slip away from him. The light that surrounded him was pale and empty in comparison.

"Huh?" he managed.

His vision was suddenly filled with three familiar faces.

"How do you feel?" Mortu asked at once.

"Do you have any dizziness or pain?" Leatherhead's eyes were bright with worry.

"Give the boy some air," Zayton said, glancing up from Don to the other two. "How could he possibly know if he is disoriented with all of us crowding him?"

A strange idea wiggled into his mind and Donatello couldn't help it; he broke out laughing.

Mortu frowned. "I am not certain that is a normal response."

"Sorry," Don gasped, still fighting giggles. "It's just…"

"Are you well?" Leatherhead leaned back over him.

"Can you not give him the chance to explain himself?" the Professor snapped.

Don saw Leatherhead blink at the Fugitoid uncomprehending and it helped him calm down.

"Guys, I'm...I'm okay. Sorry. It was just a weird thought."

"What was that?" Mortu asked, dodging Honn'i'kedt to hover on the other side.

Don took a deep breath. "Professor, what language are you speaking?"

The robotic face couldn't smile, but his voice warmed considerably. "The native dialect of my region of D'Hoonib, of course. And I take it that the translator installation was therefore a success?"

"Apparently," Don said, still smiling. "Because my brain hears every word like English. But...well…" He glanced over to Leatherhead. "Doesn't it sound kind of like extra grouchy German to you?"

Leatherhead barked a laugh of his own. "I suppose it does!"

Suddenly Krian'daren was there, stepping in to Donatello's side. She rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled; Donatello's translator told him that this smile signified a rather gentle and motherly warmth rather than a brighter sort of happiness.

"It seems, young one, that we found your laughter after all."

 _I'm not sure that's all we found_ , Don thought. But he just nodded. "I guess so." Then he quirked an eye-ridge. "Still English?"

"You are good for my practice. Except in a hurry I will continue your speech."

"Ah, okay. Works for me."

"Good. Now you rest and soon we will test the breather to make sure it does not forget how to do its duty in your face."

Don snickered and she poked him. "If my practice is funny, you will help repair it. Tomorrow we begin our discussions to fix the heart inside your brain. With my sabbatical as you name it, we can talk for much time in the days until your skin and bone close. Then we meet each morning until I am satisfied and you also."

"How long will that take?" Don asked.

It was Mortu who said, "With the advanced healing techniques of our people, you should have most of the bone replaced and as strong as ever in four or five days. The skin will heal even more quickly."

"And we'll stay nearby to keep you company," Zayton said. "We still haven't chosen where you will pursue your interests and in what capacity yet."

"Only when his heart is tired of mending," Krian'daren told him. "The rest he is with me alone. No one's heart can be healed with an audience even of kindness."

Don looked at the four of them, so different from his own family. And yet they cared about him, were looking after him, considered his needs and his feelings.

 _Four days, huh? Of getting poked and tested, of doing marathon therapy sessions if I'm not misreading Aunt Kria's intention, and of setting up whatever happens next._

 _Only a little while ago I was on Earth with nothing. Now I've got more than I know what to do with._

He smiled and his heart warmed with more hope than he could remember having in months.

 _But I'm not doing it alone._


	3. Patience

So, funnily enough, this opening scene is the first one I wrote for this entire Act. I'm not entirely sure I know all the reasons why – but maybe you can tell as you read through.

Also, fair warning – you guys are going to strangle me at the end of Chapter 4. Just FYI. I'm telling you now, if your heart can't take a cliffhanger, don't read next week's chapter until the week after. Okay?

Any guesses on the song yet?

Lastly, I get to add more fanart to Act 3 on AO3! Thank you so much Luck-of-the-Irishmen/1readerVB and Sassatello!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 3: Patience

* * *

Donatello was more than a little nervous.

"Please do not be concerned," Mortu said, hovering beside him. "They are eager to meet you."

"I know you said so, but…" Don trailed off. "It's like...they were my family's first Clan and we didn't even know it."

"I recognize that the concept of Clan means something specific to you," Mortu said, "but I assure you that the Legacy Guardians share your concept. They were not aware of the Hamato Clan as a part of their own until we were already preparing to flee the Earth. Had they known, I believe they would have tried to make contact with your family much sooner."

Don let that information wash over him without actually giving it any thought. It was either that or permit his brain to start running scenarios again: _What if the Guardians had been our friends and allies for years? What if we had helped each other take out the Shredder without ever going into space? What if Sensei had wanted to go with them when the Utrom left Earth?_

Because all those questions always led back to the one that kept him up nights and turned food to ash in his mouth.

 _What if something could have kept my family together?_

Krian'daren was still working with him on that part. As she had requested, he was seeing her every morning after breakfast without fail now that he was no longer resident at the healing center. She had warned him that his mind's healing would come in strange jumps, and she had been right – some days he felt happy, almost euphoric at times, and others he felt as low as he had that night of madness in the lair. Don understood it had something to do with his body's chemistry readjusting itself as well as his psyche coping with his own unique brand of depression and everything else, and he was just trying to hold on for the ride.

And also to not become a burden or an annoyance to the friends who had been so selflessly supportive. Which was why, when Mortu told him about the Guardians and their apparently insistent desire to see him, he had agreed to the visit even on a day when he didn't feel all that great. Being a good guest and friend mattered more to Donatello than his own variable unhappiness. He could only control one of those things, and he was determined to control it well.

"I'm glad they're here now, anyway," Don made himself say so he didn't get caught in that whirlpool of feelings again. "They did a good job figuring out how to adjust some of your food to make it recognizable to people from Earth."

"We did live for centuries on your planet," Mortu reminded him with a slightly affronted look. "Believe me, I am well aware of the eating habits common to your people."

"Sure, but even you don't know how to make coffee taste right," Don said. "That takes an experienced palate."

"As you wish." Mortu paused in midair. "Donatello, are you certain you are ready for this?"

Don took a breath. "Sorta. I know...I know it might bring back some pain, too. But I want…"

He couldn't quite finish it. He wanted so much. Only a little of it even had words.

But Mortu understood anyway. "I will remain with you for today. If you suffer any distress, the Guardians will forgive. They will not hesitate to excuse you and they will think no less of you for it. They, too, have lost something."

 _I guess that's true. They might have voluntarily evacuated with the Utrom, but they still left Earth behind, their only home, fifteen years ago by their count. I wonder if any of them had families._

 _For their sakes, I hope not._

 _I've only been gone a week and it already feels like forever._

Mortu resumed moving along the path and Donatello followed him. Around another curve they came to a door marked in Utrom writing and beneath it was both English and Japanese; both familiar languages simultaneously comforted Don and made his heart beat a little faster.

" _Dojo of the Guardian Corps: Strength, Honor, Sacrifice_ "

Donatello touched a hand to the Japanese character for honor, but he said nothing. He took several deep breaths before he nodded to Mortu to signal the door to open.

The space inside was large and dome-shaped. To the right-hand side, weapons racks displayed the swords that were particular to the Guardians Don remembered from their encounters. But his eyes were drawn to the left-hand side instead, where a motley sort of collage had been formed by various images pinned to the wall. It took Don a moment to realize he was looking at pictures and drawings of the people and places the Guardians had left back on Earth.

But directly across from the door, hanging on the wall between banners with Japanese characters extolling the virtues of Bushido, were framed portraits, and the largest of these held Hamato Yoshi's image. It stole Don's breath for a moment.

But Donatello's body remembered proper dojo behavior and he bowed low before setting foot into the room. He was aware that there was activity on the mats before him, but he focused on the person who was already moving towards him.

"It is good to see you again, student of Guardian Hamato. I am Guardian Owens, first among the Guardian Corps. I apologize that I did not give you my name before now."

Donatello rose from his bow to face the leader of the Guardians, the man he and his brothers had spoken with more than once – and had followed to learn the secrets of the TCRI building. He wore the sleeveless blue uniform Donatello remembered, and the Utrom pendant hung around his neck, but his arms were bare without the heavy, flowing coat he'd seen on the man before. In spite of the fact that they were out of the glare of the sun, Guardian Owens still wore his distinctive sunglasses, too. Other than a few streaks of grey in his dark hair, he seemed to have changed very little.

"Don't worry about it," Donatello said, and he was grateful his voice was only a little breathless. "I bet you had to keep your identity totally secret until the Utrom were safely off the planet, right?"

Guardian Owens gave a slight smile. "Yes. The protocol of secrecy was necessary to ensure our safety as well as the safety of any who might be used against us." He glanced at the back wall. "But you already know this all too well."

Don nodded. "Master Yoshi died because the Shredder found him."

"Indeed. However tragic his death, his legacy in you and the actions of your family have more than honored his sacrifice."

Donatello realized that the other Guardians who had been out on the floor were drawing near. As one, they filed into lines behind Guardian Owens.

"We were too busy ensuring Ch'rell could not escape our custody to visit with you and your family when you delayed his departure from Earth which allowed us to apprehend him. But we and the generations of Guardians that are our history are all very much in your debt, Hamato Donatello, heir and descendant of our own Guardian Hamato."

As one, the entire Guardian Corps bowed deeply.

Donatello blushed, his head reeling a bit, but he managed to draw himself up and bow to them in return.

"I...my whole family...we were honored to be of service and to fulfill Master Yoshi's own sworn duty."

Guardian Owens rose along with the others. Now his smile was much warmer. "Guardian Hamato was something of a legend among the Corps for his dedication, skill, and honor. From my encounters with your family, I can see how many of his gifts he passed to you."

Don snorted. "Some more than others, unfortunately. I'm not sure I'll ever live up to him, really."

"But that is the reason you have come," Mortu said; he had been content to stay back and let Donatello and the Guardians meet one another on their own terms, but now he resumed his place at Donatello's side. "For the Guardians can continue your education in the art you still cherish."

"It may be the other way around," Guardian Owens said. "Guardian Hamato was trained by the Corps, it is true, but he also learned many of his arts at the feet of his first master. This knowledge he shared with the Corps freely, but many of his techniques have been lost since his death."

Don tipped his head to one side. "Well, if there's anything I know that you don't, I'll be happy to share." He thought of his time with the Ninja Tribunal. "It's true that the style I learned is probably a hybrid of the Guardian way and the way passed down by the Ancient One."

"Then come. Join us and be welcome," Owens stepped back and gestured for Don to enter.

Don looked to where the rest of the Guardians had returned to their own training, splitting into pairs for sparring. There was something so familiar about the activity, it drew an ache from his chest that he could feel in his very blood.

"Do not push yourself too hard, Donatello," Mortu said softly from beside him. "You have only just begun healing in some ways."

 _I know. A lot of ways, actually_ , Don thought, but he didn't say so out loud. "Don't worry. I've got no interest in going right back to the hospital now that I'm finally out of there. Besides, Aunt Kria would be annoyed if I proved her wrong about my head being able to handle a little exercise."

Owens chuckled. "That she would. Aunt Kria is something of a legend among us when angry. Perhaps for today you might be willing to pair with me. I would be interested to see how your style of fighting has changed since last we met, and I have no wish to irritate our fine healer."

Don nodded. "Sounds okay to me. It's been a while since I had a real workout, though, so I might be a little rusty."

Owens led the way towards the right where there was a clear area near the weapons racks free of others currently training. With an appraising glance to Donatello, he carefully removed his sunglasses and set them aside.

"Would you prefer to practice with your weapon or with empty hands?" he asked.

Don considered for a moment. "Let's do weaponless to start," he decided, removing his bo from its place on his shell and leaning it against the nearest rack. "You'll have plenty of time to wipe the floor with my shell when you have your sword later."

Guardian Owens smiled and without the sunglasses the bright amusement was clear in his eyes. "I think perhaps you will be surprised. But very well. Let us begin."

Donatello moved farther onto the ground, noting that the mats were slightly spongy. _Probably much softer to fall on than what we had back at the lair_ , he thought. He bowed to Owens.

Owens returned the bow and held it a beat longer than Don thought was necessary.

 _Respect? Or just another way of doing things?_

But he didn't have time to ponder it, for a moment later Owens was up and the fight was on.

It had been forever since Donatello had been truly able to spar with his best skill, his most advanced form. Beating up Purple Dragons took a brutal and efficient sort of effort, not the flawless, pure form of ninjutsu he had studied for so long, the art he had learned at his father's knee. Flowing into the training, exchanging blows with Owens, Donatello felt almost as though he had come home.

Which hurt in its own way, but he was thankfully too busy fending off his extremely skilled opponent to dwell on it.

At some point, Donatello became cognizant of the fact that silence had fallen in the room and many eyes were turned to him, but he was too busy defending himself and probing for weaknesses to let himself be distracted. Owens was superb, probably as good as Leonardo himself.

And while the similarity tore at Donatello's feelings, it also offered him a solution.

 _When you can't beat Leo in a straight fight, confuse him._

So between one step and the next, Donatello shifted his combat from the ninjutsu he had learned from Splinter to the slightly different ninjutsu he had learned from the Tribunal.

To an outsider or a novice, the styles were virtually identical; but to a master they were as different as fire and ice. And while Hamato Yoshi might have shared some of the Tribunal's teachings that he had inherited from the Ancient One with the Guardian Corps, there were techniques Donatello had been taught as an acolyte that Yoshi had not. Techniques Donatello had learned straight from the Tribunal that the Ancient One had been honor-bound not to pass on to his own students. Secrets that could only be shared now that the Demon Shredder was truly destroyed and the Tribunal had left the world.

Even so, Guardian Owens shifted his strategy to counter him and began employing tactics that were familiar to Donatello but only in that he had seen Splinter use them – not moves he had yet been taught.

Suddenly, Owens sprang into the air in a crouch that was so very like his Sensei that Donatello froze, unable to even raise a block against the strike that sent him sprawling to the ground.

Don stared up at the domed ceiling, too many feelings churning inside to sort them out. There was loss and grief from the stirred-up memories, and wounded pride because he had failed, and some relief that the Guardians were still better than he was at ninjutsu because there was no planet anywhere that Don thought he deserved to be the best, and some honest admiration for how skilled Owens was. And not a little soreness from both his overtaxed muscles and the specific spot on his plastron Owen had hit that sent him down.

And, of course, a reminder from his head that it had just been cut open a matter of days ago and even if days were longer on the Homeworld than Don was used to, it wasn't entirely happy about being banged around, thank you very much. Don would have been content to lie there and wait for it to stop protesting.

But he heard the slight whir of Mortu's hover-disc drawing near and Don realized he better get up or he might make his friend worry.

So he sighed dramatically and flopped his arms. "Well. That was embarrassing."

And then Owens was beside him, Mortu closing in fast. "Not at all. That was an impressive display, Hamato." He held out a hand.

Don snorted and accepted the help getting back to his feet. "I'm glad you think so. I told you that you'd be wiping the floor with my shell." But he smiled as his head slowed its pounding. "It's okay. There's always more to learn."

"For us as well," Owens said. "Some of what you have mastered is unknown to me. I hope you will be willing to share it."

"In exchange for letting me train with you?" Don asked.

But Owens shook his head. "No. You are welcome to join us as you wish, Hamato, whether you choose to pass on your knowledge or not. We will teach you all we know. It is our duty to so honor the student of one of our own."

Don looked around at all the other Guardians facing him. It felt a little strange to be surrounded by humans who were not surprised by his appearance, who already knew all about where he had come from and what he had done. But that strangeness was nothing to the comfort of beings who looked like what he had always known. As welcome and friendly as the Utrom Homeworld was, even with having friends like Leatherhead and Zayton and even Aunt Kria around, there was something tremendously familiar about being around humans from Earth, too.

He looked back up at Owens and gave a small bow. "Thank you for our bout. I would like to join you again for more, though I'm sure I'll be busy with other things soon, too."

"Yes," Mortu said. "But time can be made for something of this magnitude. Your heritage is no less important than theirs." He turned to look out at all the planet-less humans now a part of the Collective. "And they will tell you that we respect your right to honor it."

Don smiled. "Thanks, Mortu." He looked back to Owens. "I'll make you a deal."

Owens raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I'll teach you whatever I can, but only under two conditions. First is that you teach me, too."

"Of course. What is the second?" Owens was beginning to smile.

"Call me Donatello or Donnie or Don. Hamato is my name, but Donatello is who I am."

Owens's smile broadened. "Very well, Don. You may call me Owens if you wish, though it is my surname. Most of us use those." He held out a hand. "But my given name is Bonani."

Don shook the hand. "Nice to meet you, Bonani."

And then more Guardians stepped forward and there were more names to know and Don trusted that his brain would recall them and would match them to the now smiling faces that surrounded him.

It wasn't at all like coming home. But it did seem a bit like another beginning.

-==OOO==-

"And you feel positive that you took no injury to your fight?" Krian'daren asked, peering closely at Don the next morning.

Don smiled at her. "Yup. Nothing worse than the usual getting-dumped-on-the-mats thing. My shell took the brunt of the force."

Krian'daren made a sound in her throat that sounded to Don like a gulp but his translator said it was meant more like a growl. "I will judge of that."

She waved him to sit on the floor beside her chair, which he did with a fond huff. Her hands settled on the crown of his head and he relaxed under her examination.

As she rifled through his body to check for any injury, she said, "I see the days are still long for you. Your body wishes sleep sooner than the sun."

"Yeah, that's true. This whole 30-hour day thing is okay, and when I get used to it it'll be _great_ because I can sleep a ton and still have lots of hours to get things done. But I'm still sleepy at weird times and awake too early." He chuckled. "First time in my life I've ever been an early riser at least voluntarily."

"No? What then made you wake before your like in your previous mornings?"

Don twitched slightly and he could almost sense her picking up on it. With no point in avoiding it, he just closed his eyes. "When I was a kid, Master Splinter required us to rise early in the morning for breakfast as a family before practice and meditation. The older we got, the earlier breakfast got."

"But you were always one to sleep only long after the night's center, yes?"

"Yeah, midnight was nothing. Sometimes I'd end up pulling two or three all-nighters in a row, but mostly I learned to get up with only four or five hours of sleep to my name."

Maybe it was Krian'daren listening to him or maybe it was just that the words needed to come, but Don felt himself spilling out things that barely mattered except they really, really did.

"Mikey and Raph were always way worse than me at mornings, though. Raph starts every day as nothing more than a grumpy, grunting fist looking for a target, and it takes him an hour or two to relearn how to talk. Mikey just lounges around and is likely to fall asleep on any surface, horizontal or otherwise, put in front of him. I think that's why Master Splinter eventually moved meditation to the afternoon – because Mikey just used it to nap."

"But not your other brother?" Krian'daren asked gently.

"Leo…" Don sighed. "As soon as Leo figured out that Sensei was training us to get up earlier, he started getting up even earlier than that just to, I dunno. Prove he was worthy to lead by following his master's example, maybe. Raph called it 'being Splinter Junior.' I can't even count the number of times I used to be trudging out of my lab to go to bed to see Leo getting up for his own morning meditation and practice before breakfast."

"We have queried rank in your Clan before. But you feel it differently today. Why?"

"Well, I guess…" Don let the answer burn from inside before he could put words to it. "Rank in the Clan is one thing, but when it's just Leo being Leo...I guess I don't know. It's different."

"Tell me first about his position and then what is not his position may be more clear to you," Krian'daren suggested.

"Huh. Okay. So Leo's job...before...was to lead us in Master Splinter's absence. To decide what we would do and how. To protect us and push us and keep us together." His voice caught. "But…"

Before he could let his emotions take him, Krian'daren asked, "If you did not choose his plan, what then?"

Don took in a shaky breath. "Well...it would depend. Raph always fought with him. Me...sometimes I'd just go with it. Sometimes I'd try to reason with him. But...usually if I thought Leo's plan wouldn't work, he'd listen to me. He...trusted me. He...counted on me."

"Did you like it?"

That surprised him. "Like it? Uh, sometimes? I mean, it...it was good that he trusted me. That he thought I was worth listening to. But...sometimes I felt like Leo needed me to get him out of things without me being allowed to tell him what to do. Like...I had the same responsibility to protect us and guide us, but no authority to direct us. Unless he gave it to me."

Don had to take a deep breath.

"And he would. Don't get me wrong. Sometimes he would just let me make the plan and corral Mike and Raph into doing it. But sometimes he would lead us even if he didn't know what he was doing at all. And...I would get it why Raph got so mad sometimes. Leading is tough, it really is, and Leo's _really_ good at it but…"

"There is burden to lead, and there is burden to follow. Sometimes to follow is the greater burden, especially when you follow from in front," Krian'daren said.

Don slumped against the chair. "Yes. That." A few tears were making themselves known, and Don didn't bother to fight them.

Krian'daren's hands seemed warmer than usual on his head. "Is it a relief, to be not led and not to lead?"

Don let the tears go as the ache in his chest grew. "No. I'd rather lead or be led than be alone."

"Are you alone, young one?"

"Technically, no. But inside? In my heart?" He gulped back a sob. "Yes. Very."

-==OOO==-

A day or two later, Zayton entered the shared apartment and walked into the midst of an argument, albeit a friendly one.

Leatherhead was standing beside the couch. "Donatello, I fail to understand why you do not take the most obvious course."

Don crossed his arms, frowning. He was sitting on the steps that led to the upper floors by the window and his face was twisted in irritation. "Because it's cheating! And I don't want to start off by cheating!"

"It isn't cheating – it's a legitimate advantage. No other would be so cautious."

"Well, sue me. I'm cautious, okay?"

"Excuse me." Zayton stepped between them. "May I ask what you are talking about?"

Donatello sighed through his nose. "Leatherhead wants me to use the portal stick or the time window for my project."

Zayton tipped his head. "I can see Leatherhead's point, Donatello. Either project recreated on the Homeworld would entirely fulfill the practical experiment and demonstration requirements. Then you would only be required to submit a study and participate in an open forum."

Don sighed.

The days in the hospital – though the Utrom called it a 'healing center' and he really was trying to adopt their terminology when he thought about it – had given him plenty of time between heartrending sessions with Krian'daren to discuss the various academic or research organizations who had shown an interest in offering Donatello accreditation and a job. In the end, he had settled on the Utrom Science Institute, the same where Zayton was a respected researcher and in whose dormitory they had been given space. Mostly he had chosen it because it was the most prestigious establishment for science on the Homeworld, but part of it was that Leatherhead had also been offered a post there – and staying close to home made the entire idea feel even vaguely possible to him.

That decision made, next had come what sort of accreditation to pursue. Leatherhead had opted for the bio-technology track as it had been his focus of study while he lived with the Utrom on Earth. But, though Don absolutely wanted to study it and experiment with it, he didn't feel he had enough expertise in it yet to warrant an Utrom degree for it. Instead, he had selected the Utrom equivalent of a mechanical engineering diploma with a second in computer engineering. The requirements for both were similar, and he had learned he could achieve the double doctorate with a single thesis experiment and presentation.

And while both the time window and the portal stick did qualify, he just couldn't bear to use them.

"Please understand," Don said, focusing on his breathing to keep from letting his emotions get away from him. "It isn't that I don't think the technology is useful. But it hardly feels like an accomplishment for me to recreate something I didn't build from scratch in the first place. I understand them both now, and could easily rebuild them, but I didn't invent them. I needed the other-universe version of myself for the portal stick and Cody for the time window. I couldn't have done either without their help."

"I am certain you are capable of even more than that," Zayton said with firmness in his voice. "But I sense that this is not your only reason to avoid these items."

Leatherhead blinked. He looked at Don. "My friend?"

Don wished he hadn't just that morning promised Krian'daren that he wouldn't keep his feelings from his friends as often as he had been.

"They both...remind me too much. Of them. And I don't want...to be tempted."

Tempted to look back at happier times. Tempted to go back to Usagi's world and get his heart broken all over again. Tempted to try to change history.

He didn't admit as much to them, but he let those feelings lie bare on his face.

"I see," Zayton said softly. "Then, yes. I believe a different project is in order."

Don looked up and deliberately avoided the concerned, sympathetic expression on Leatherhead's face. "Isn't there...some kind of problem here that I can solve? I don't want to do something that's just for show to get my degree. I'd rather make something that helps people."

As he started speaking, Mortu entered. He smiled across the room to Don. "You could always help me plug the security holes in our systems that you exploited when you infiltrated the TCRI building."

Don smiled back. "As if you haven't already done that."

"You never know," Mortu said, moving into the room to join the discussion. "You might find more."

"That sounds more like an exercise with the Guardians than a doctoral thesis," Don said.

"Keep it in mind, though, for the High Council may well ask you and the Guardians to test our readiness at some point." Mortu looked to the others. "Well, that aside, what other suggestions have we already raised and discarded?"

"The portal stick and the time window," Zayton said.

"A multitude of computer viruses," Leatherhead offered.

"And lots of vehicles," Don added, "but there's nothing I could build that isn't way better here. Except for a lack of rockets on the personal hovercraft. And I don't think you get a degree based on adding rockets unless you're going for astrophysics and engineering, and I'm not."

"Yet," Leatherhead said with a knowing smirk.

Don ignored him and pretended not to be amused.

Mortu considered for a moment. "What we need is something you did yourself, perhaps with no help at all. Something that came not from the future or an alternate dimensional counterpart, but from your own need and desperation. From what I understand, all of your work has always been its best when you completed it for the sake of others."

Leatherhead tipped his head. "Is there anything you built in the previous lair that might be of help? I know there were some things there that you chose not to recreate later because they were not necessary."

Memory lanced through Don's eyes, but an instant later he jumped to his feet. "Of course! That's perfect, LH!"

"What is it?" Mortu asked.

Don's face was split between an acute pain at remembrance and an eager light of excitement.

"Mortu, have the Utrom mastered virtual-to-corporeal transfers yet?"

Mortu's eyes widened. "You cannot be serious."

"I am _so_ serious. A while ago on Earth I sent us into computers and remolecularized us back to the real world. It's a variation on the time window turned inside out, souped up, stretched out, and mixed with a teleportal." Don pushed the sorrow back and forced himself to feel only the joy. "And from your face, I'm thinking nobody's tried it here."

"Donatello," Zayton said with awe, "I can assure you that no one has tried it _anywhere_. You could be awarded your degree this moment on the basis of having built it on your own on Earth with equipment salvaged from a dumpster."

Don blinked. "So...we were the first ever Cybernauts?"

"My friend." Leatherhead reached over to clap him on the shoulder. "I believe you should be less surprised by now. Allow me to assure you that you are truly unique in the universe, and I am not certain anyone ever contemplated being a 'Cybernaut' until it entered your mind."

"But they will certainly consider it when you are finished," Zayton said. "The possibilities are endless."

"They truly are," Mortu said, "particularly when you link such technology to the Utrom Oracle Pods which facilitate mind-sharing similar to, though less advanced than, that practiced by the High Council."

"Huh." Don stopped and held perfectly still for a moment while his brain turned towards a totally different direction. "Yeah. I think...I think this'll work. And with the Oracle Pod…"

The other three exchanged glances as Donatello's expression grew remote and totally focused.

"I'll...be in my room…" Don's voice was airy and distracted. "I've...got some...thinking to do."

His friends let him go and quietly rejoiced. At last Donatello was beginning to act like his old, brilliant self again.

Now it was just a matter of time.

-==OOO==-

As the days passed on the Homeworld, Donatello fell into several new habits.

First, of course, he had to master the Utrom method of marking time. The Homeworld had a days that were 30 hours long as Don calculated them – the Utrom hour and the Earth hour were close enough in length for him to equate them at least for general use. Rather than weeks of seven days, however, the Utrom counted what they called quarter-rhythms, sets of ten days; a fully rhythm was forty. And instead of months, the Utrom tracked more what Don would have called seasons on Earth – sets of four and a half rhythms were known as a flow. All of it was determined by the movements of the Homeworld itself.

Eventually Donatello intended to figure it all out and really study the biology and geology of the planet that was becoming his home, but for now he had enough to keep him absorbed.

He still spent up to four hours each day with Krian'daren, though the timing of their appointment was pushed farther back from the early morning as he grew accustomed to the Utrom days and his night-owl tendencies began to return. His studies at the Science Institute kept him incredibly busy, and much of his remaining free time he spent with the Guardians, either practicing their martial arts or just talking about Earth.

By the end of his first full rhythm in the Collective, Don had adapted to the planet as thoroughly as he had the future with Cody.

Donatello would rise in the mid-morning, not the crack of dawn but not so far into the day as he would have on Earth, either. He would head downstairs in time to join Leatherhead for breakfast and as much coffee as the pair of them could consume. Then he would go out to meet Aunt Kria in a small office halfway between his quarters and the healing center. Their discussions would range from his physical health to his mental and emotional until one of the pair called a stop, either because Aunt Kria felt Don had done enough, or because Don's emotions could be strung out no more.

If they finished well before the midday meal, Don would head to the Guardians' dojo for some training, but most often they did not. Sometimes they would eat lunch together – if the conversation had been restorative rather than painful- and sometimes Don met Leatherhead and Zayton instead. Aunt Kria was firm in her belief that she would do Don the most good as his doctor and his Aunt separate from the rest of his support network at least for now, so she recused herself from his outings with his friends.

After lunch, he would head down to the workspace he was currently sharing with Leatherhead in the Institute and dive into his project. There he would work for several hours before taking a break to go to the Guardians' dojo again for a more intensive session of training and sparring before dinner.

Dinner was often the only meal of the day Mortu could get away from his other duties and visit with them. Because of Mortu's position adjacent to the High Council, he could sometimes be found wandering far and wide across the Homeworld; normally, his work would have carried him into the off-world Collective, but he had requested to stay closer to home while Donatello was still settling in. Transit across the Homeworld was possible at blink-and-you-miss-it speeds, so rare was the evening Mortu couldn't make it back to Center in time to bring his friends to increasingly varied places to sample foods from across the galaxy.

(Donatello had not been surprised at all to learn that the name for the capital city where the High Council was based translated essentially to 'nerve center' in English. Though he was still waiting to find out if there were cities called things like 'foot' or 'posterior' and, if so, if he would be alone in wanting to make jokes about them.)

After dinner, Don made it a habit to retreat to his room to meditate for about an hour. It helped him clear his head, work through the problems he had encountered on his project, and revisit his morning discussions with Aunt Kria. After that, unless the Guardians were planning something unusual or there was a cultural or scientific demonstration being held, he would return to the Institute to work late into the night. Zayton would join him not very subtly as the hour went from late to almost early and would ensure Don didn't stay up too long.

Don learned he could reason with Zayton to a point, and beyond that point the Professor would not let his young friend talk his way into more time before sleep; the Professor proved to be perfectly willing to threaten the safety of Don's own project if necessary, though he only ever suggested breaking something that he himself could fix in the hours while Don slept.

It was almost worrying how easily Donatello seemed to settle into his new life. On the outside, whether he was working in the lab or with the Guardians, eating with his friends or tinkering with a piece of technology on the couch, he always seemed content.

Krian'daren assured Don's surrogate family that he was indeed adjusting, but that she had not yet begun to resolve his deeper pains and sufferings. She urged them to let him pretend to be happy and at peace without censure, but to remind him regularly that they were there if he needed their support.

And so they all found little ways to show Donatello that they cared.

Besides ensuring regular sleep, Professor Honn'i'kedt made a point of supporting Don through his project, from acquiring hard-to-find supplies to making introductions with experts who could guide Don on how to integrate his own technology with Utrom bio-tech. Zayton had a great deal of respect and even a little awe for the turtle's intelligence and creativity, and he never failed to say so while he worked side-by-side with him. Slowly, the Professor was rewarded by seeing some of Donatello's uncertainty start to give way as his damaged self-image began to heal.

Mortu was, by necessity, slightly more distant from Donatello – mostly because he didn't grow to share the camaraderie of living together with the others. However, that allowed him to be a friend with whom Donatello could, on the rare occasion he needed it, be the most honest because Mortu was not the one he had to see when he was in his own home. In much the way April had been a friend to Donatello, a refuge outside of his more immediate surroundings and a link to the outside world, Mortu became Donatello's guide to the Collective, introducing him to the strange and wonderful planet that was eagerly accepting him and offering him an honored place of his own.

Leatherhead was the one closest to Donatello emotionally, the only one Don called 'bro' of any of them – at least partially because Leatherhead had been adjunct family to the Hamato Clan for a long time. With that preliminary trust in place, Leatherhead appointed himself to the position of big brother in all the ways he could manage. He joked with Don, looked out for him, and kept him grounded in the here-and-now. The first several times Leatherhead called Donatello 'my brother,' Don's eyes went wide, then teary, then grateful. Leatherhead was also the most physical of the three, and he made sure to regularly hug or nudge or otherwise show his affection to the young turtle.

Slowly, while Donatello did not confide all his deeper pain to them, he did start relaxing around them. He stopped feeling the need to be wary of his surroundings, of bracing for attack at every turn. He stopped guarding his words and his expressions so closely, and let the defenses of his soul ease.

And he did other things for them, too.

Donatello couldn't quite bring himself to thank his friends for their efforts on his behalf, their kindness, their support, their understanding. To say it aloud felt too real and too raw to him, and there seemed to be too much to say to even begin. But he repaid them whenever he could in other ways.

Don helped Zayton with his own projects whenever he could and helped the Fugitoid brainstorm new solutions and new angles to old, frustrating problems.

Don eagerly worked with Mortu by offering his own insight for those members of Mortu's crew who had been on Earth for centuries and were still readjusting to the Collective; he was determined to help bridge the gap for Guardians and Utrom alike in the same transition he was making himself.

And Donatello returned Leatherhead's affection with his own. Where he missed his brothers and his father with a pain that seemed sharp enough to kill, he patted Leatherhead's shoulder as he would have Leo's, or leaned on him as he would have Mikey, or elbowed him as he would have Raph. Leatherhead was overtly offering Donatello a family and Don tried to offer the same back to him.

It was a strange hot-and-cold sort of adjustment for them all, with good days filled with laughter and bad days that were oddly silent, but they stuck it out. Bad days were forgiven and forgotten, and good days were celebrated by smiles and warmth and hope for more to come.

Because everyone, especially Donatello, knew the truth.

The Collective was Don's last hope for a meaningful life, for a mind and soul unbroken, for a future that rang with anything but pain.

And all of them were willing to do whatever it took to make it work.

-==OOO==-

To the surprise of the Science Institute – but not those who knew him well – Donatello submitted his petition to present his project for consideration of accreditation after only a rhythm and a half of work.

"You've created quite a stir," Mortu told him at dinner that night; in celebration of Don's work, they were eating at a restaurant run by some former, retired Guardians who were happy to put some 'real' New York City food together for their turtle friend.

"Oh?" Don's eyes were mostly on the platter that looked like it held proper grilled Mexican corn, and how the Guardians had gotten ears of corn, let alone figured how to make Homeworld ingredients mirror those used by the best street-food vendors in NYC, Don didn't care as long as it was real.

"Your thesis is provocative enough on its own, but the time in which you have completed it is nothing short of groundbreaking." Mortu smiled as Donatello's focus remained on the succulent food before him. Don's time on the Homeworld had demonstrated how poorly he had been eating when alone on Earth; with more regular meals and sleep, his body was fit and hale again.

Donatello shrugged, taste-testing the pale liquid that had been marked as 'lime juice' and discovering it was a fair facsimile before liberally dripping it on his corn. "I went slow this time. Last time, when I had to rescue Master Splinter from being torn apart in cyberspace, I built the rig in a matter of days."

"Without sleep, I expect," Zayton put in.

"Hmm." Don nodded absently as he carefully hefted the corn. "Or food, or anything else, really. I don't really remember much of building it, only that I needed to do it as fast as possible. Looking back, it seems like a miracle that it worked at all."

Leatherhead smiled. "It does take longer to do things correctly when taking into account one's health and wellbeing." Due to his longer recovery from his own surgery, as well as the complexity of his bio-technological project, he was almost a rhythm from being ready to present to the Institute.

"Not to mention," Zayton said, "documenting each step of the process, building in safeties and controls, and all the various layers of redundancies and backups."

"None of which you had, I take it?" Mortu asked.

Donatello had bitten into his corn and was absolutely lost in the bliss of the flavor, but even with his eyes rolled back and closed and his face flushed with the joy of food, he managed a shrug.

Leatherhead chuckled at his friend for a moment, but then he tasted his own ear of Mexican corn and was promptly lost to similar euphoria.

Mortu glanced to Professor Honn'i'kedt and smiled.

Donatello's struggle for emotional recovery had been the more dramatic and dangerous, but Leatherhead had been seeing his own doctor while Donatello was with Krian'daren, and he, too, had made great strides. He had undergone even more reconstructive brain surgery than Donatello to repair what Bishop had done to him, but he needed far less therapy. As long as nothing Leatherhead cherished was threatened, he was not likely to fall prey to the mindless rage any longer.

 _And if something does threaten what we all treasure_ , Mortu thought to himself, _be that this small family we have built or the Collective itself, I believe he will not be the only one enraged._

Mortu had led his ship's crew on Earth for centuries, had stood against Ch'rell and opposed him in a world not prepared to defend against his evil, and now served the High Council to ensure no villain like Ch'rell was ever permitted to cause harm in the Collective again. He had protected his Utrom people on Earth and had battled Ch'rell and his allies.

But he had rarely felt so keenly the protective fury as he did now on behalf of Leatherhead, Zayton, and Donatello.

Mortu had never raised any children of his own, but Leatherhead had been a child of his people while on Earth, and Mortu had always taken that responsibility seriously. Now that he truly understood the horrors Leatherhead had experienced when he had been left behind – for which Mortu sorely blamed himself even if Leatherhead kindly did not – he had sworn that no such harm would ever come to him again. Of course, Leatherhead had his own guardians and parents among the Utrom, those who had raised and taught him directly, but they were scientists, not warriors. Their protection had always been Mortu's responsibility, and their child's as well. Now more than ever, Mortu was determined to be a better protector for Leatherhead.

Professor Zayton Honn'i'kedt had come to his attention when he returned with the turtles once Mortu had been able to locate and retrieve them from deep in Triceraton space. He had been grateful the peaceful scientist had joined the Collective after fleeing the Earth, and had been furious when the Fugitoid had, without authorization, returned to Earth to try to save the planet from invaders. Much later, when Zayton had been found on Donatello's PDA, Mortu had been both gratified that his friend was alive and even more upset by what he had had to do to survive. Honn'i'kedt was the sort of being that improved the Collective with every project he undertook, always striving to find ways to connect different peoples through peaceful, collaborative means. His artificial body had already been sacrificed once, and his mind almost with it; Mortu would not let such a valuable asset – or a good friend – be lost another time.

And then there was Donatello. Mortu's feelings for the young terrapin came from many different sources. First and foremost was Donatello's own inherent worth both as a scientist and as a being. Donatello was kind, creative, hardworking, and brilliant. He was the sort of being Mortu had always worked to protect within the Collective, from Ch'rell or any other danger, to ensure they could truly achieve their potential in the service of all that was noble and good.

Second, Mortu could not help but see Hamato Yoshi in his adopted grandson; Yoshi had been kind, too, and loyal, and so very earnest. Mortu's entire crew had mourned Yoshi's death not just as a Guardian who fell in their defense, but for the loss of a remarkable and engaging spirit. Now, that spirit lived in Donatello and Mortu would not let it be lost again.

But perhaps the final reason Mortu's heart bent so sharply towards Donatello was one no one might recall as it had happened so fast it seemed to have been lost in the chaos of everything else.

When the turtles had infiltrated the TCRI building to rescue Splinter, not realizing that the Utrom were trying to save him from his grievous injuries, they had come into conflict with Mortu's own soldiers. By the time Mortu had understood who the invaders were and why they had come, the turtles had been battling against heavy odds to defend themselves and save their father. Mortu had wanted to stop the conflict, to assure the terrapins that the rat they held dear was in good hands and was almost well – and that they, like Leatherhead, would be welcome if they joined the Utrom with peace in their hearts.

But before Mortu could stop the battle, an errant shot by one of his soldiers had almost struck Splinter's healing pod.

Mortu would never forget the sharp, cold grief that swept through him then, knowing that one under his protection, one who had fought against Ch'rell, one who was helpless and hurt, would die and there was nothing Mortu could do to stop it.

And then Donatello had jumped and absorbed the blast himself.

Mortu would think on it many times afterwards. On how Donatello never hesitated, never even considered his own safety. Of the four turtles, only one was proving to be at all adept at understanding their technology, and therefore only one would have had any hope of safely releasing Splinter if they had gotten the opportunity to try. But this one, whose eyes were bright and whose mind was quick, had acted with pure selflessness and loyalty.

Yes, Mortu could well see Hamato Yoshi in his heir.

The weapon had been set not to kill, but Donatello still fell to the ground clearly in pain and disoriented. Before Mortu could stop them, could assure himself that the turtle who had sacrificed his own safety for his Master would recover, they were gone on the errantly-activated teleportal.

When Mortu had begun working on tracking their signatures through space, determined to bring them home after his own failure to prevent the unnecessary violence, he had not known for certain if there would be four turtles still or now just three.

He had said as much to Master Splinter when he woke him to advise him of the situation. Splinter had smiled slightly and assured Mortu that Donatello could not have died without his knowledge, that he could still sense his son's life-force beating strongly beside his brothers. But Mortu, for all he respected the mystic arts practiced by Yoshi and other Guardians, did not share in them. As far as he was concerned, one of his Guardians had fallen in his service – again – and it was entirely his own fault.

And when the four apparently unhurt turtles appeared, plus one Fugitoid and several warriors from D'Hoonib and the Triceraton Republic, Mortu would have rejoiced except he was too busy to let himself give in to such an impulse. That was part of why he sent the turtles and Splinter into the Utrom memories – he wished to repay them for the pain he had caused with at least some knowledge, as though it could absolve his failure, not once, but twice, to guard their family.

Donatello had shown the same bravery and loyalty and sacrifice as Yoshi before him, and as Mortu had no ability to thank the stalwart Guardian who saved all their lives with his death, he intended to repay Donatello in his place.

Mortu watched fondly as Leatherhead and Donatello fell silent, eating heartily and apparently with great satisfaction.

 _Two such good individuals filled with honor and intelligence and courage and friendship. Yes, you both belong here where you can be esteemed for all that you are. And I will watch over you and our robotic friend to ensure that you live in peace so that you can be your best selves._

Using the robotic arms on his disc, Mortu reached for his own drink on the table and lifted it high.

"I would like to propose a toast," he said. "An Earth custom I very much appreciate."

Donatello and Leatherhead both finished what they were eating and turned to him wearing almost identical expressions of polite attention. Zayton did not have a drink, but he, too, looked to Mortu.

Mortu smiled, a mannerism he had learned on Earth that was not used on the Homeworld, but he thought it well worth the practice with the little-exercised muscles given how it had elicited an instant response from both Leatherhead and Donatello from their first moments here.

"To two of the finest additions to the Collective in my living memory, which, I'll have you know, is rather extensive. To Leatherhead, child of the Homeworld who is finally on the path he was born to walk. And to Donatello, who will very soon be showing up scientists of every age and planet with his unique and impressive intelligence and imagination. May you both find all the acclaim and, most importantly, all the happiness you deserve!"

"Hear, hear!" Zayton cheered.

Leatherhead's eyes were wet and Donatello was blushing furiously as they clinked their own drinks to his and accepted his toast. But then Leatherhead glanced to Donatello and raised his own once more.

"And to you, Mortu, for helping to welcome us both to this new world. I daresay we would both be far more lost without you to guide and support us as we find our way."

Mortu was touched. He could barely keep the robotic arm from shaking as he accepted the praise.

Unexpectedly, Donatello cleared his throat.

"And to all three of you," he said, his voice steady but low and thick with feeling, "for all you've done to help me get back up when I thought...well." He coughed to cover the lump in his throat. "Thank you all for...for giving me a home. And a family." He blinked back tears. "I hope...someday I'll be able to thank you properly."

Leatherhead clinked his glass but then set it down to put an arm around Donatello. "No thanks are needed, my brother. We are in this together."

"Indeed," Zayton said, reaching over his hand to pat Don's arm.

Mortu felt certain that if he were human he would be teary himself – as it was, his palate ached.

"Seeing you complete your project and be rewarded for your work is all the repayment I could ever want," he said.

-==OOO==-

Donatello took a deep breath.

"In conclusion, my cyber portal should be able to integrate with the Oracle Pods such that, not only will the physical experience within the Oracle Pods be significantly more realistic, but that any object which is remembered by enough minds with enough clarity could potentially be rendered in the physical world to a high degree of accuracy.

"Additionally, I believe there may be some possibility of combining the cyber portal with a teleportal device to both cut the time distortion created by the latter when in use over great distance and to significantly enhance a cyber teleportal's range and precision.

"Though this technology may still be in its infancy, the possibilities for enhancing our society and our future seems limitless, and I look forward to discovering new ways to bend this project to serve the Collective in its aim for peace and unity."

Donatello looked down at the script before him, written in his own messy handwriting on a datapad, and found nothing more to say.

It was over.

His thesis had been presented and the physical machine had been explained, diagramed, and even tested by the several different beings who made up the panel for the Institute that was grading him.

 _I did it. Not one day of school or college, and here I am, presenting the equivalent of a double PhD._

 _Shell._

The panel had, of course, been given access to his entire defense, the machine itself, and everything associated with it, many days before his actual presentation. Their decision had probably been all but final even before he walked into the room.

But it was different for them to see it, for Leatherhead to act as test subject in demonstration, for Don to really speak to them about what he had done and how and why.

 _It's too bad Zayton had to recuse himself on account of being my friend. I'd feel a lot better about the decision if he were up there with them._

But Zayton was in the audience along with his other friends, and Don couldn't bear to look at them, not when his heart felt squeezed in his chest and validation he had never had before, never craved before, sat waiting in the silence from the panel at the end of the large room who looked down on him with unreadable eyes.

Finally, one of the panel members, an Utrom called Myle who was the head of the mechanical engineering department in the Institute, spoke up.

"Hamato Donatello, we the panel find that your studies have met all requirements for accreditation in the mechanical engineering as well as the computer engineering fields per the rules of this Institute."

Don just started to relax when Myle held up a tentacle.

"However, we have also determined that you have completed the requirements of a third track, that of the study of telepresence and telexistence, with a particular concentration in Oracle engineering."

From the small crowd that was his spectators he could suddenly hear Leatherhead chuckling and Aunt Kria clapping her hands quietly as she did where a human would nod. He still didn't dare look over to them, as if it would break the crystalline moment that seemed to be forming around him and robbing him of thought and breath.

"Therefore, we have chosen to amend your petition for a double degree and instead to confer upon you the rank and title we believe you truly deserve."

Now Don could hear Mortu slapping his forelegs against his disc in a slurpy sort of human-like applause.

"We of the Institute of Science hereby award you certifications in the study of mechanical engineering, computer engineering, and telexistence studies, and properly bestow upon you the title of Astrocyte Hamato Donatello."

Zayton's voice was the first to be upraised in a shout, but not the last. Mortu, Leatherhead, Aunt Kria, and two dozen others, from Guardian friends to those with whom Don had worked in preparation to others who had shown interest in his project began to cheer in the ways native to them. The air filled with Utrom whistling their own applause.

Donatello blinked as a medallion was passed along the panel above him, Myle lifting from xyr position to move to face Don directly.

"With this award, we formally invite you to join us, Astrocyte Donatello," xe said warmly.

Donatello bent his head and let the medallion fall over him, landing on his plastron and shining a bright Utrom silver.

Don looked up at xyr and then over at the friends still gathered around, cheering for his achievement.

 _Shell. I wish...my family was here to see this._

 _But…_

 _Maybe...they already are._


	4. Complication

Hello all!

It's been a wild week on my end, and I'm glad to have made it to Monday to send this to all of you. I don't tell you all often enough how much it means to me to have you here reading week after week, even when you don't comment or review. Everything I write is an act of love and need, a story and a soul I need to pull into the world or die trying. Sometimes, like with this particular series, it comes fairly easily. Other times, it takes blood and tears to produce every word. These days, I've been working on a mix of fic and original works that someday I hope to publish. And sometimes I think I couldn't do a bit of that if I didn't have people like you here to help me through this part. So thank you. Every one of you gives me one more story I can write because you held me up.

Also, fair warning – this is the chapter with rather a nasty cliff-hanger and I am not at all sorry.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4: Complication

* * *

The morning after Donatello's achievement at the Institute, he did not come down to breakfast at his usual time.

Leatherhead glanced to Zayton who was perusing the day's news on the viewscreen embedded in the wall. "I will bring him some coffee. Perhaps he is still tired from yesterday's excitement."

Zayton nodded. "Any scientist struggles with the day they reveal their discovery, and I am certain we did not soothe his energy with our, ahem, activities."

Leatherhead snorted. "Be glad we let Guardian Owens plan and execute the surprise party instead of my parents. When I turned of age, the celebration they arranged for me encompassed the entire TCRI building and caused neighbors to call the police to complain about the noise...to say nothing of the fireworks."

Leatherhead poured a huge mug of coffee and carried it gingerly across the mess that still pervaded their living space. Dishes, a few still holding food, were everywhere, and there was wrapping material strewn across the floor after several of the Guardians had engaged in an acrobatic version of dodgeball with clumps of wrapping from the gifts they had brought for Don. There were not a few food stains on the high walls, stairs, and beams either; when the more impish Guardians had run out of ammunition, they turned the conflict into a food fight.

Leatherhead smiled as he glanced upwards. The morning sunlight made the golden, hastily updated words on the twenty-foot-long banner hanging from the ceiling, seem to glow with a vibrant shine.

 **Congratulations Hamato Donatello, [** **Doctorate]** _ **Astrocyte**_ **of the Science Institute, honorary Guardian, and esteemed friend!**

 _No one expected the Institute would award Donatello the additional degree_ , Leatherhead thought fondly, _but no one could deny he has earned it._

Avoiding one very sticky spot on the stairs that led to Donatello's room, Leatherhead tapped lightly on the door. "My friend?"

There was a pause, then, "Come in, LH."

Leatherhead pushed through the door, having to duck and angle his shoulders to manage, but once he was in Don's room, he could stand. He was surprised however, to find Donatello not in bed as he had expected, but instead sitting at his mat in a meditative pose, staring out at the sky.

Don looked up and tried to smile. "Hey. Sorry I'm running late." The smile turned more genuine. "You brought me coffee. Thanks. You're the best."

Leatherhead could see through the attempt at lightness and set the coffee on a nearby shelf, sliding to the floor to sit beside his friend. "You seem sad, if I may say so. Are you all right?"

Don let out a breath. "I should be, right? I mean, I've just been awarded a huge honor by the best minds in the Collective," his hand drifted to the medallion he wore, "and I've got everything going for me. But…"

Leatherhead extended a hand and gripped Donatello's shoulder.

Don took heart from that and found the words to continue. "It's all...I mean, it's happened so fast. Two rhythms ago, we were back on Earth. I was – I was alone. I was a nobody. I was a screwup turtle living by myself in a world that would have...well, _you_ know what would have happened if I'd been caught."

He sighed.

"And now I'm here and I've got a home and _collegues_ and a job waiting for me and I've had brain surgery and I'm in therapy and…" He gulped. "And I'm not alone, but...I still _feel_ alone."

Leatherhead gave him a moment before he said softly, "Unfortunately, I know that feeling well, my friend. It haunted me on Earth, when I longed to join my people here. For you were my friend, and together we did great things, but it was not my home."

Don looked at him and remembered the first time he and his brothers had met Leatherhead, then an unknowing ally of Baxter Stockman. He remembered how Leatherhead had willingly sacrificed himself, or so they thought, to save them, all because he was so lonely he had nothing worth living for. He remembered his own surprise, and how he had said then that no matter how bad things were, at least he and his brothers had one another – until Mikey made some comment about "do we _have_ to have Raph?" and they had all laughed.

Don nodded and felt his eyes grow wet.

"I have...everything I ever could have wanted here...but I still don't have...the only thing I ever really needed."

Leatherhead scooted closer and put an arm around his friend.

"And it's not...it's not that I don't like you and Mortu...and Zayton and Aunt Kria...and Bonani…" He leaned against the comforting strength of Leatherhead's shoulder. "I _do_...but…"

Leatherhead nodded beside him. "There is family and then there is family, my friend. One into which you are born and one which you create. And if you long for one, the other may never be sufficient."

"No! I mean, you are! You guys…" Don's tears fell and he let them go. "It's not an either-or, Leatherhead. I wouldn't...I wouldn't give this up, or give up you and everyone here. But...I want them too. Casey and April and M-Master Splinter and my...my brothers…"

He pulled enough out of Leatherhead's arm to hold up the medallion.

"I want them...to see...and to...be proud of me."

"April and Casey will be," Leatherhead assured him, pulling him into a close hug and letting him cry. "As for the others, there is nothing I can say. Except that _I_ am proud of you, my brother. More than I have ever been proud of anyone or anything in my life."

Don nodded against his chest and did not fight the need to break down that choked him, falling into Leatherhead's warm, comforting purr.

Several minutes later, when the tears had exhausted themselves, Don sat back, rubbing at his eyes.

"What I was really thinking about, when you came in? It was the future."

Leatherhead gave him a small nod to encourage him to continue.

"You know about the future I saw when Ultimate Drako separated us, right?"

"The post-apocalyptic world where the Shredder was victorious?"

"Yeah. I've seen another future, too, the one about a hundred years from now back on Earth with Casey and April's descendent Cody. And...well, I was always scared before."

Leatherhead lifted an eye-ridge. "Scared?"

"Yeah." Don's voice was rough from his crying, but he was doing an admirable job of calming himself. "Because the Shredder version always seemed possible, at least until we got rid of him...though if you listen to Karai she thinks he can still come back. Anyway."

He scrubbed a fist over his face to clear the evidence of tears.

"That Shredder-future Mikey told me everything happened because I disappeared. I used to get so scared something would happen to me and I wouldn't be there for them." He paused to breathe and continue maintaining his composure. "Then they left. And I wasn't there anymore...but not how I'd feared."

"That future should no longer be possible," Leatherhead said gently. "You need no longer dread it."

"I know and I don't. But now...does this mean the other future isn't possible, either? That Cody will never be born and O'Neil Enterprises will never exist? Because I'm not there?"

"Does that trouble you?"

Don shook his head. "Not outside the whole paradox of me learning how to make a time window and then the future where I learned it not happening but I still know how to do it, I guess. I mean, I feel sorta guilty that the Cody who might exist in one hundred years won't be the Cody I knew, but, well, anything could happen that would change that anyway. It's not really all my fault."

Leatherhead smiled. "I see Krian'daren's influence is beginning to take hold."

"Yeah." Don shrugged and made a small smile of his own, a real one this time. "Anyway. It's just...I've never contemplated a future without my brothers before. I never really thought there could be one. And now there is. Now I'm an Astrocyte and I've got this job offer. I guess...I'm still figuring out how to feel about it."

"It's all right for you to feel many things," Leatherhead said after a moment. "Happy because of your opportunities and sad because you do not share them with those you miss. What matters, Donatello, is what you choose to do now."

"I guess then I'd better choose to get moving and go see Aunt Kria." Don patted Leatherhead's arm. "Thanks for being here for me, LH."

Leatherhead snorted and pulled Don into a bear hug. "You were my surrogate family first, my brother. I am grateful to be able to return that kindness."

Don shook his head against Leatherhead's neck. "Not surrogate, Leatherhead. Not anymore."

The sound of a chime interrupted them and the pair separated. "Visitors?" Don asked.

Leatherhead shrugged. "I did not expect anyone, but perhaps some of our friends have returned to restore our home after yesterday's...events."

Don laughed brightly and pushed to his feet. "Yeah, I think we're going to be cleaning for the next quarter-rhythm at least. I'll start working on it this afternoon, since I don't have to go back to the Institute until I pick a specialization." Then he looked to Leatherhead who was also lumbering to his feet. "Unless you need any help with your project?"

"No, but thank you. You deserve a few days of rest before you accept a position, and my work is at an extremely tedious phase. Though," his eyes twinkled with humor, "I imagine you'll have about equal pleasure working through the disaster that has become our home."

"I don't doubt it," Don said. He grabbed his bo without even thinking about it, sliding it into position before stretching eagerly for the mug of coffee that still awaited him. It had cooled a bit, but the mug had insulated it with great success and Don gulped at it gratefully.

Leatherhead held open the door and began down the stairs, Don falling in behind him. As they went, they pointed to various parts of the mess – an entire smulen perched on top of Leatherhead's room, a long trickle from a Kenstseasen beverage running down a light cord onto the lantern, and a piece of Leatherhead's own attempt at pizza stuck to the ceiling – and Leatherhead did not fail to notice the bounce in his friend's steps, the quick smile that caught his eyes as they went.

 _Two rhythms ago, we were back on Earth, yes_ , Leatherhead thought. _But, more importantly, two rhythms ago you did not have the tools to analyze and manage your feelings so skillfully. Two rhythms ago, to contemplate being alone was to invite madness. Though nothing may ever remove the soul-deep pain and loss you harbor, my friend, your time here has permitted you to live with it and to live beyond it._

Zayton was at the door, but he waited until his roommates had joined him. "Are we ready for a guest?" he asked, looking between them.

Don nodded. "Yep. I've even got coffee. Go ahead and let in the world."

Zayton touched the door to authorize entry and it opened, revealing Mortu and an unfamiliar Utrom.

"I'm sorry to trouble you so early," Mortu said, eyeing with humor the state of the room and Donatello's death-grip on his coffee, "but I thought perhaps you might not want to wait."

"Please, come in," Leatherhead said politely.

"Thank you." Mortu led the guest in and steered them over to the table in the kitchen area; the couch was presently covered with gifts for Donatello from various friends and yet more wrappers. "Professor Honn'i'kedt, _Astrocyte_ Donatello," he leaned on the title with pride, "please allow me to introduce Juqox, an old friend. She contacted me late last night and requested a meeting with you."

Leatherhead smiled. "It's good to see you again, Juqox, though I confess I remember you more by reputation than by face."

Juqox, who was a slightly darker color than Mortu, smiled in return, having picked up the expression in her own time on Earth. "But I remember you well, at least as you were before I was promoted. You have certainly exceeded all expectations, Leatherhead."

Mortu looked to Donatello and Zayton. "Juqox was second in command over the Guardians when we left Earth, but immediately accepted a position away from the Homeworld upon our return, which is why neither of you have had the chance to meet her."

Don's interest perked. "Bonani's talked about you a lot," he said. "Apparently you're something of a legend when it comes to combat in a robo-organic body."

Juqox accepted the praise with a wave of a foreleg. "Perhaps. I am out of practice, living as I do now without one, but I confess, I rather miss having a form with such dexterous hands."

Mortu sighed. "I, too. Perhaps we should bring them back into fashion."

Zayton looked between them. "Is this why you came to visit? If you wish help constructing a newer version of your robo-organic suits, I would be happy to assist."

"No," Mortu said, "but thank you. I will most certainly keep it in mind."

Juqox looked straight at Donatello. "I came because I heard the announcement last night of your success. And because I have something that belongs to you."

Don was surprised. "You do?"

Juqox hesitated a moment before saying, "I knew your Master Hamato Yoshi very well. He was...a true friend."

Interest flashed in Donatello's eyes. "You worked with him?"

"As I worked with most of the Guardians, yes. But he was among my closest friends on Earth, unique amongst the many Guardians of my acquaintance over the years." She looked at Donatello with fondness. "His honor and loyalty were unquestionable, as are yours, I understand."

Before Donatello could become uncomfortable, Mortu spoke up.

"Unbeknownst to any of the rest of us who were on Earth, your Master Yoshi entrusted Juqox with something in secret when he feared his interference with Ch'rell was putting him in danger."

"And now that one of his heirs is here, it is time I pass it on to you," Juqox said. A panel opened from her hovering disc, and a small, shining sphere emerged.

Instinctively, Donatello caught it, surprised at its warmth; most of the spheres used by the Utrom for messages and such were cooler. Then again, this one was smaller than most, too, though its pearly-grey color was not so unusual.

"What is it?" Don asked.

Juqox smiled again. "Yoshi was an avid student of the mental and metaphysical disciplines, but he was creative, too. He combined that which he learned from his first master with that which we practiced while we were on Earth. However, he only ever shared his secrets with the other student of the Ancient One, Mashimi Yukio."

"Who eventually betrayed us all to Ch'rell and forced our relocation," Mortu added.

"I believe Yoshi knew then that his time was drawing to an end," Juqox said. "Shortly after we settled in New York, he passed this to me. He asked of me that I guard it as I would the Heart itself, and that I never reveal its contents to any who had not earned both the trust of the Utrom and of the Ancient One."

Don blinked.

"By all rights, Astrocyte Donatello, this should now be yours," Juqox said. "I entrust it to you as Yoshi entrusted it to me." Then, she gave a wink, which meant nothing in her own culture so Don knew it was meant as a human would mean it. "Call it a graduation gift."

Leatherhead and Zayton and Mortu talked to Juqox around him, but Donatello didn't hear them.

 _Master Yoshi. You entrusted this to your allies...and it's been waiting all this time._

 _Waiting for me, I guess._

Determination and not a little excitement flowed through him.

 _I will honor your trust, Master. And I will follow in your footsteps again to learn all that I can to continue to guard those you gave your life to protect._

 _I promise to try to master these lessons you left for me. And I promise to guard them and use them in your honor._

 _I guess this means...you're really with me here after all. Just like my new family._

 _I hope...you would be proud of me._

And somehow, Don felt that maybe he was.

-==OOO==-

Donatello made it through about an hour of his delayed appointment with Krian'daren before she at last rapped on her chair with her elbow in frustration.

"You are unsettled and poppy like a bariemin from my planet!" In spite of her words, however, she smiled. "Your feelings are too dizzy with thought of else to grow now."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Kria," he said, and meant it, "but to have something of Master Yoshi's…"

She leaned down to where he sat in his customary place at her feet and silenced him with a tap on his cheek. "Yes, yes. I see well. Go, then. Feed your curious self and return tomorrow mind clearer so we can reach your inside heart."

Don glanced at her to be sure before stood, grinning. Then, he spontaneously threw his arms around her. "Thank you. I really appreciate this."

"Appreciate tomorrow. Go, young one." But she laughed as he left.

Don bounded out the door and jumped onto his brand new conveyance, a gift from Bonani. It was a bit like a scooter with a wide platform big enough for Don to share it with three or four others if none of them was Leatherhead. But the thing that Don loved most about it was that its controls had been redesigned from the standard Utrom panel to one more like an Earth helicopter. Of course, he wanted to tweak it a bit, jack up the speed and make the controls attuned to his ninja-quick reflexes as no Utrom could, but for now it still made him shout happily as he took off back towards the dorm.

Don hit the door to the shared apartment at a near-run, only vaguely surprised that it was empty; Zayton and Leatherhead must be down at the Institute working on Leatherhead's project. That was just as well, though, as Don did not want to be disturbed. His mind barely on it, he left a message on the door for his friends so neither would interrupt. Then he was away, jumping up to his room as he had his first day on the Homeworld, though today his medallion of rank bounced against his plastron with a reassuring weight.

Finally in his room, Don secured his own door and went to the drawer under his bed where he had put Yoshi's sphere with the Fangs of the Dragon and the portal stick. In moments, he had it between his hands and had settled on his meditation mat across from his shrine.

"Okay, Master Yoshi. Here we go."

Donatello activated the sphere.

 _Attune your thoughts to mine_ , came a voice Don had never heard but could not doubt belonged to his Clan's Master.

It took him a moment to realize he was hearing the words inside his head.

 _Allow the knowledge of my first Master to fill you. See within yourself the symbol of those who were his own teachers. When your soul aligns, follow the path._

Donatello closed his eyes and sank into meditation. He traced his mind over the footprint of the Dragon that was the Ninja Tribunal's sigil, the one turned upside down by Oroku Saki.

Slowly, he felt himself begin to change, to shift, as though he were being lifted out of the mental plane he inhabited and into a new one. It was a familiar shift, however, as Master Splinter had often pulled his sons along in his wake as he wandered the astral worlds.

Donatello gave in and let himself be drawn along a path of gold.

-==OOO==-

"It was amazing!" Don bubbled with excitement, ignoring his dinner.

Where Honn'i'kedt and Leatherhead would have returned to the apartment from the Institute for lunch, they had politely made themselves scarce after seeing Donatello's note. When they came back again around the dinner hour with Mortu in tow to see if he had emerged, they found the turtle in incredibly high spirits, blaring music from his room and leaping about as he cleaned some of the remains from the party with a grin on his face.

Since Don was obviously eager to discuss what he had learned, Zayton and Leatherhead quickly prepared food from the kitchen while the turtle and Mortu continued cleaning; by eating in, Don could speak more freely about that which Yoshi had gone to such lengths to protect.

Of course, by the time they sat down to eat, the apartment was only a little cleaner, but Donatello's enthusiasm had not abated at all.

"Master Yoshi found some way of encoding brain patterns into the sphere so that a person would have to get their spirit into a state virtually identical to his in order to access the information he stored."

"How could he ensure another person's mind would so carefully match his own?" Zayton asked.

"Once I got past the initial check, I was faced with a series of additional spheres. I think the coding must be like what gets used on the Oracle Pods because it seemed that real, or maybe it was just my own meditation being enhanced by Master Yoshi's. Anyway, as I approached each sphere, it would pose a question."

"What sort of question?" Leatherhead passed more food onto Donatello's plate, and the turtle ate a few bites to compensate.

"Not an easy question. Not like a security question on a website. More open-ended stuff like 'what is the true meaning of honor?' or something. And I would stand there and mull it over until I came up with something I thought felt right. And eventually I must have gotten it, because the sphere opened to me and I could see into it."

Mortu was keenly interested; such things were not uncommon for Utrom to leave for one another via Oracle Pod technology, but Yoshi would not have programmed it much at all, not the way they did through their technology; Yoshi had never shown much skill with computers. Rather, he would have had to do this entirely through his own mental powers, perhaps under the influence of an Oracle Pod. "If I may ask, what things did he leave behind?"

Don slurped a few bites before he answered. "I'm not entirely sure because I didn't explore all of them. But one was all about the art of ninjutsu he had learned, right down to his very memories of learning it! So I've got some new training to do. Another was all about this mental stuff. But there was one I only peeked at but it didn't make sense to me. I was hoping to ask you about it."

"Ask me what?" Mortu looked at him curiously.

"Master Yoshi devoted an entire area to understanding 'the Heart' and I'm not sure what that means. I got the distinct impression it is to do with the Homeworld." Don paused, frowned. "And now that I say it out loud, that's what Juqox said, isn't it? That she had to protect the sphere like 'the Heart.'"

Mortu shifted in his disc. "What you ask, Donatello...it is not easy to explain."

"Oh?"

Leatherhead leaned forward. "Please, allow me."

Mortu blinked with a palpable air of relief.

"The Heart," Leatherhead said, "is difficult for the Utrom to discuss because it is an intensely private matter. It would be akin to blithely describing one's own...hmm. I do not think there is an Earth equivalent."

"So not, uh, to do with a person's, you know, body?" Don asked.

"No, not at all." Leatherhead shook his head. "Here – perhaps this will do. Imagine the most personal and sensitive of all the things you discuss with Krian'daren, and then having to shout them aloud on a radio show."

Don shuddered. "Okay. Gotcha." He looked to Mortu. "Sorry for bringing it up."

"No, don't be," Mortu was quick to say. "It is difficult to discuss, yes, but you deserve to know." He glanced to Zayton. "Both of you."

"Yes, I was going to say I have heard the term used sparingly in my time here, but never wished to pry," the Professor said. "A well-mannered guest does not encroach upon the privacy of one's hosts."

"It's different for me," Leatherhead said. "Though I was raised with the same stigma, as I have yet to experience the Heart for myself, I am not so deeply touched by it. So I will explain it to you as my parents explained to me as a youngling."

Leatherhead sat back.

"You know that the Homeworld is one large organism and that there are debates as to its sentience, correct?"

Donatello nodded.

"While there is debate about the _cognition_ of the planet, there is no debate about what you might call its soul, what the Utrom term its Heart. The Homeworld itself has a center which is clearly aware and able to interact with those who are permitted entry."

"What kind of interaction do you mean?" Honn'i'kedt asked.

"I can only describe what my parents told me, for I have not yet attempted it. But they say that the Heart is like the embrace of a deity."

"To put it in clinical terms that do it no justice at all," Mortu spoke up, "it is an empathic mind that does not communicate in words but very much so in emotions and something deeper. It...communes with the soul and resonates that communion through every cell of one's body."

"Interesting," Zayton said. "Now, if I review the context in which I have heard the Heart mentioned before, I believe I recall it had something to do with Utrom reproduction."

"That's correct," Leatherhead told him. "The Utrom are extremely long-lived. If they reproduced at the rate of humans, for example, this planet would have drowned in them long ago. But just as a human's body tells its cells when to reproduce and replace themselves, the Heart does so for the Homeworld."

"When my people reach any point in their lives when they wish to create a youngling, they go together to the Heart. I cannot say what happens in that moment for I have never tried it, but those who speak of it say that the Utrom who are accepted by the Heart lose consciousness for a moment as they are swept up in its power. When they return to themselves, there is a youngling Utrom between them made from however many parents cooperated to create it."

"So...like cellular division, but going from multiple instances to combine into a single, rather than a cell dividing and splitting into many." Don frowned. "How does that even work?"

"Utrom biology is vastly more complicated than our own," Leatherhead said. "And even the Utrom do not know entirely how it works. None have ever been able to study what happens in the Heart, and no outsiders have ever been permitted."

"Ever?" Don asked, his own heart sinking. "That's too bad. I was hoping…"

"You misunderstand," Mortu interrupted him. "No non-Utrom are ever permitted in the Heart with other Utrom during the process of reproduction. However, non-Utrom who are a part of the Collective may approach the Heart and see if it will allow them near." He smiled. "I was thinking when Leatherhead achieves his own doctorate that you both deserve the chance to try."

Leatherhead's smile went incandescent. "Often my parents said that they would no longer attempt the Heart's choice for they had me, but they spoke of their other experiences with it fondly. I...would very much like to know the soul that is behind the Homeworld and all its people."

"Me, too," Don said. "In the meantime, there's so much for me to learn from Master Yoshi."

"Yes, but that brings me to a question," Zayton said. "How could Hamato Yoshi have communicated with the Heart when he was on Earth?"

Don shrugged. "I'm still trying to figure out everything he learned, but from what I've seen, somehow it doesn't surprise me. I mean, I communicated with Master Splinter from the Triceraton ship while he was on Earth during that whole thing with the mind-reader."

"Interesting," Mortu said. "I did not realize such. And you have had other psychic experiences, yes?"

"Sure." Don nodded and popped another bite of food into his mouth.

"There was something Master Splinter said to me when we were working to retrieve you and your brothers after the accident with the teleportal. He told me that he would know if you were dead, that he would sense it."

"Right. We've all always had kind of a sense for each other."

"But he said something else, too." Mortu looked into Donatello's eyes. "He told me that I should not be surprised if you returned as suddenly as you had left. I asked if he meant that his sons might find a teleportal or some other transporter. And he said, 'Time and space is nothing to a disciplined mind – but to an exceptional one, even the doors between dimensions may open, and my sons are capable of more than they know.'"

Don frowned. "Master Splinter doesn't have the ability to traverse dimensions without actually using magic. Even he is limited in that."

"But you may not be," Mortu said. "What you describe Yoshi to have done with his memory sphere should be possible only through the use of our finest and most complex bio-technology and a great deal of coding knowledge. And yet he bent reality into corporeal form with his own mind."

Zayton looked to Don. "I would not doubt that your own limits are only bordered by what you have attempted, my boy. I have seen as much in your work."

Don blinked at them. "You think...I could...I dunno...not need to use the portal stick to get between worlds? And not use magic, either?"

"How will you know unless you try?" Leatherhead pointed out. "The truth is that no one knows what limits there are to reality, nor to what any one soul may achieve."

"Well, that's true, anyway. The Ninja Tribunal always warned us that reality was mutable, especially in the right hands." Don swallowed. "And...they did say that my brothers and I were chosen specifically because of what we could do...which, in the end, included turning ourselves into dragons, so…"

"So." Mortu smiled. "Do not write off your own potential so easily, Astrocyte. Even you may be possessed of depths none of us have yet begun to fathom."

Don shook his head. "I guess anything's possible. But if that's true," and a familiar light of challenge rose in his eyes, "I promise you I'm going to find out!"

-==OOO==-

Donatello groaned. "I've been here two minutes and I already feel stupid! Why didn't I just stay home?"

Beside him, Zayton made a mechanical laugh. "Because this is where you belong, my boy. As you well know."

"Says you."

"Yes, as you put it, 'says me.' Now," and he put his metal hands on his body's equivalent of hips, "stop your fussing and get to it."

Don huffed. "Or else you'll send me to my room?" But he began to smile.

"Do not tempt me, Donatello." Then, more gently, "Call upon your great courage and your mind will do the rest."

Don took the words to heart and nodded. He turned back to his desk and continued his arranging.

Behind him, Zayton nodded. Then he returned to his posture leaning over the balcony to direct traffic. "Boxes and equipment flagged with orange go over there. You, excuse me, I don't know names, yes, you with the Triptillian necklace, that entire piece belongs in the center. Don't gawk, he is busy up here and you'll see him soon enough. Oh, for goodness...be _careful_! Those samples are delicate! Stars above, you're all behaving like unruly children! Honestly, I don't know what to think if these are the Institutes's best fellows."

Don snorted. He knew perfectly well that Professor Honn'i'kedt was exaggerating things; Zayton himself had helped Don choose the various assistants, research fellows, and students who would become part of his project. Many of them were Zayton's own students, and they were well aware of the Fugitoid's legendary exasperation.

 _But if he didn't play the part of the cranky, distracted professor, they wouldn't try to outdo him. Besides, I think he enjoys complaining. People don't know whether or not they should be taking him seriously._

 _I think it's also his way of reminding them to work harder to understand others who are different, to make sure that people practice assuming the best and not the worst about someone whose way of relating to the world they don't understand._

 _I hope he's instilled that in at least a few of them. I might need them to give me a huge benefit of the doubt._

Donatello looked to one side to where the stairwell from his balcony office down to the floor of his lab led to the door. He couldn't see it from this angle, but he knew what was inscribed outside.

 _Astrocyte Hamato Donatello  
Department of Mechanical Engineering  
Department of Computer Engineering  
Department of Telexistence Studies  
High Council Endowed Experimenter_

 _Who'd have thought I'd go straight from getting my degree to an endowed position funded and supported by the Utrom High Council? Talk about rags to riches. Me, a nobody from the sewers, holding one of the most prestigious posts in the Collective. And why?_

He glanced at Zayton.

 _Because he thinks, and Mortu thinks, that I deserve it, and apparently the Council agrees._

 _Plus, it helped Zayton keep me out of the worst of the academic wrangling that goes on around here, if his stories are to be believed. Who'd have thought professors and teachers could be as cutthroat as the Foot? No wonder he wanted me outside the normal chain of command or whatever they call it._

 _At least it means I know I'm working for the Homeworld's people. And I can keep solving problems that will benefit others. If I had to just study something esoteric like the nature of digital intelligence, I'd probably die of boredom. But being able to fix things, really work on issues and make them right, well…_

 _And not just for me...or my family. For the entire Collective._

 _I just hope they're not wrong about me._

"Donatello?"

Don turned to where Zayton had approached, realizing that his hands were empty and his desk in his office space, which had no window but rather an entire wall of monitors – and he could turn virtually every surface in his office and lab below into a display – was ready.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you go have a few words with them?" Zayton's voice went soft and Don could hear the smile in it. "Many of them are rather star-struck with you, my boy. It will do you and them good to dispel any awkwardness before the real work begins."

Don nodded, gulping a little. But he moved to his stairs and started down them, not wanting to talk to his new associates – _Shell, I've got more than colleagues now; I've got assistants and students of my own!_ – from on high. As he did, he admired the lab anew.

It was domed and oblong, as many Utrom rooms and buildings were, larger around than his apartment and easily twice the size of Honn'i'kedt's own lab. The main floor had been separated into sections according to a map Don had drawn, with a pang of remembrance, in the same way he always arranged his labs in the lairs on Earth. There was a section for chemical analysis and work to the right of the door, which bled into a bio-technology hub; in the lairs, that would have been the medical bay, but Don didn't need one here. Then, working counterclockwise from the door, would normally have been weaponry or other offensive work, now replaced with the equipment for the cyber portal. From there to the door, underneath the overhead balcony office and computer array, was the rest of Don's mechanical engineering stuff, supplies and parts and the tools to combine them.

Above, the open balcony that doubled as his office was approximately thirty Earth feet up and ran around the round room, wide enough for several beings to stand in conference comfortably but narrow enough not to obscure much of the view below. Stairs were at either end leading towards the door, but Don had a good feeling within a month one set would be blocked.

 _Where else am I going to put stuff but up on the part of the balcony I'm not using yet? I don't think the Utrom use nearly enough cabinets. Piles will only get me so far._

 _Or maybe that's just my own organizational system. Oh well._

Even blocked, though, Don could have made the leap from his balcony to the floor without incident – it was an easy enough jump, made easier if he was willing to land on some of the items, components, and tables and stands strong enough to hold his weight scattered throughout the room. He could have done as much today, even with the herd of people hauling in his new equipment and shuffling it around into place.

 _But they already look at me like I'm a hero. I'd rather not get a Superman reputation on top of it._

At the bottom of the steps, Don watched the scurrying group for a while, marveling at the variety of species who had opted to join him. _I don't even know half their planets. Shell, I don't even know half their species! I better work on that._

 _Still, it's nice to see the multiformity. I think we all feel less weird when we're all kinda weird together._

He cleared his throat. Almost at once, many eyes – not all in pairs – turned to him and most of the noise faded away.

"Thanks for all your hard work," he started. He fidgeted under the riveted attention, then took a deep breath.

"There is something wise said by a wonderful woman on Earth named Maya Angelou: _I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better_. I only know the things that I know so far and I am absolutely sure you're going to find out how little that is in no time. But my promise to you is that I will keep learning better. And then I will keep doing better. That's all I ask of you, too. I have no idea where we'll go with all this. But it will keep getting better the more we learn together."

He paused, then pressed his palms together before him and bowed properly. "I humbly thank you all for offering to teach me all the things I do not yet know. I hope I may repay it in time by learning new things beside you that we can share with the universe for the sake of everyone."

When he rose, there was a pause. And then one Utrom began whistling in Utrom applause. In moments, the other associates and students began to applaud in the way of their own people.

Above, Zayton nodded in approval. He kept his voice low so as not to disturb.

"Well done, Donatello. Finally you are where you belong, and the universe begins to smile."

-==OOO==-

Two rhythms later, Leatherhead completed his own work and earned a double-doctorate in bio-technology and, inadvertently, biochemistry. The latter he gained after applying some of what he had learned from the Outbreak Virus to his thesis and his own panel was as generous as Donatello's had been. Leatherhead's defense and presentation had many more guests in the audience given Leatherhead's many years and many friends amongst the Utrom who had been on Earth, but the party his friends threw was categorically more controlled.

Wisely, they held it elsewhere than their apartment so someone else was responsible for cleaning up after the antics of a few inebriated Guardians and Utrom alike.

Three days after that, Mortu excused himself from his usual duties in order to take Leatherhead and Donatello to visit the Heart.

Zayton stayed behind, waving absently at his friends over breakfast. "Go, both of you. What the Heart means to you is important and I do not mean to belittle it, but I know in my own Fugitoid heart that it is not the place for me. That which is metaphysical has never much interested me, and even less now that I am what I am."

Don and Leatherhead exchanged glances with identical thoughts: _We'll see about that, but we'll talk about it another day._

So they set off with Mortu as a trio, riding Mortu's own transport through Center City but away from the High Council building.

Don frowned. "I'd have thought the High Council would be built right on top of the Heart?"

"It would be too dangerous. Both the Heart and the High Council must be protected but also open to those who need them. It is safer and easier to guard them separately." He drew the transport to a stop out of the way of other traffic and rotated to face them. "There is something I must warn you about, Donatello."

Don's eye-ridges went up. "Oh?"

"Leatherhead is a legal citizen of the Collective and has been since his parents adopted him. You, however, are not a citizen. You are what on Earth would be termed a legal immigrant."

"Right…"

Mortu met his eyes. "If the Heart accepts you and allows you entrance to its innermost self, you will automatically become a citizen of the Collective."

Don was surprised. "Really?"

"The Heart will not permit you entry if you are a threat to us," Mortu said. "It has long been the practice of the Homeworld to recognize anyone the Heart deems worthy as a citizen of our world and its partners."

Don considered. "Does it...would it change anything?"

"Nothing of your current life would be directly impacted. You would gain a few political rights you do not have as an immigrant, but your day-to-day life would be unchanged. And you would still be considered to be a citizen of Earth, if you wish. You would simply also be a full member of the Collective."

Don turned it over in his mind, letting his heart thump with a moment of loss but then quickly releasing the emotion. "I wasn't much of a citizen on Earth, either. It's not like I could vote or anything." He let out a breath. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know, but it doesn't change anything. I still want to go."

Mortu gave him a smile. "I'm glad. I anticipate the Heart to see in you what I do."

Don stuttered an embarrassed smile in return. Leatherhead clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze.

Mortu resumed flying, leading them away from Center's bustling areas and out to where the planet was less-densely populated with buildings. And yet, Donatello could see how little that changed the landscape. Instead of metal and stone cities on Earth bleeding into forests or fields and farms, the major difference seemed to be that in Center, the landforms were hollowed out for buildings and farther away they were just landforms.

 _It's good camouflage, too_ , he thought. _A stranger might look down from space and not realize the difference between areas that are populated and areas that aren't. Except for the lack of various peoples wandering around, it could still be Center._

But soon, Donatello's practiced eye spotted changes.

"Mortu," he asked, "are we in a secured area? Like how the government might block off a military base on Earth?"

Leatherhead blinked at him. "Why do you ask?"

"Because there are hidden guardposts all around. They're good, but, well. Ninja."

Mortu laughed. "You are correct. We are passing our third checkpoint now. I must have you come and speak to the commander sometime. Even most Utrom never realize how tightly controlled this area is. But if you can so easily spot our defenses, we should probably attempt to conceal them more carefully."

Don smiled. "It's not just me. Bonani and the other Guardians could have spotted it, too."

"Perhaps. But many of the Guardians haven't attempted the Heart."

Leatherhead frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't know," Mortu said. "I've never asked. It's a very personal decision, after all."

Donatello filed that away for future reference – and a question the next time he went for training at the dojo – and continued to watch the scenery.

Mortu piloted them in lower to the actual planet's surface than he had previously; most of Center was built high up away from the ground, at least the parts Don frequented. Now, though, they skimmed over the bumpy, lush terrain, making it far more obvious to Donatello how some of the foods that had become staples of his diet grew in their native habitats. He already knew that the innards of buildings were also edible, though they were primarily appreciated only by Utrom.

Now he could see the buildings in their beginnings, the size of knobby bushes breaking out of an orange plain.

Leatherhead cleared his throat. "Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, my friend, but are we not...heading rather quickly towards that?"

Don looked up from his examination of the planet's flora to see a rather large, rounded landform up ahead – and sure enough, Mortu was heading right for it.

"Trust me," he said.

Don and Leatherhead barely had time to tense before the landform opened like a giant mouth.

"That's almost worse," Don said quietly.

Leatherhead nodded. "I believe I know how fish feel facing a shark."

In a moment, they entered the opening and found themselves in a wide, flat room. Mortu halted his transport to one side near a ramp that coiled farther down into the ground.

"From here, we continue on foot." To their surprise, Mortu lifted his body out of his disc and jumped to the ground to walk on his own tentacles. He glanced at them. "The Heart has never objected to technological assistance, but just as one might wash one's feet before entering a holy place on Earth, it is customary for us all to approach the Heart as we are."

Don reached back and grabbed his ever-present bo, setting it in the transport beside Mortu's disc before he followed.

The descent was long and strange. The conical space that wound down and down revealed strata in the planet's layers, but of much different colors than those Don could have recognized on Earth. However, Leatherhead had studied the Homeworld as a child and could name each and what it stood for geologically, so Donatello let himself fall into his friend's lesson as he journeyed into the planet that had become his home.

A long, long way down, so long that Don was beginning to feel concerned about Mortu having to walk so far, there was a door. It was the exact color of the bright sun at dawn.

"Touch it and see if it allows you entrance, one at a time," Mortu said. "As for what you will learn, I cannot tell you."

Leatherhead's eyes were wide and hungry, so Don gestured for him to go first.

"Are you sure, my friend?" He was almost breathless with anticipation.

"Definitely," Don told him, smiling. "You haven't asked me for anything for as long as we've been here. Call this me repaying some of your kindness."

"There is no repayment necessary between us, my brother," Leatherhead told him firmly. But he accepted the invitation and approached the door first.

His hand rested on the door for but the blink of an eye before it opened for him.

Don flinched from a suddenly bright light in the dim cavern that was otherwise only lit by some form of bioluminescent groundcover growing on the stones along the stairway, so he could not see exactly what Leatherhead walked into. When the door shut behind his friend, he turned to try to wheedle more information out of Mortu, but was stopped by the look on his friend's face.

Mortu's eyes were closed and his entire being seemed...content. Almost blissful.

 _This is probably better than meditating for him_ , Don realized. So he restrained his curiosity and waited, letting his friend have the chance for some time and peace which he otherwise rarely seemed to take for himself.

An hour passed according to Donatello's inner clock before the door opened again and Leatherhead emerged. His brown eyes were wet and alight with joy and his face was split in the biggest grin Don had ever seen.

Leatherhead moved his jaw as if to speak, but then shook his head and gave a half-hysterical huff. He gestured to the door and leaned against the nearest wall, trembling and crying and smiling.

 _Shell. Well, here goes everything_.

Don approached the door, but before he even reached it, his senses became nearly overwhelmed by the _presence_ beyond, a presence so strong and so warm he almost faltered in his steps. But nothing could have kept him from wanting, even needing to be permitted nearer.

He never felt the door under his fingers, nor saw the light that bathed him; Donatello only felt an all-consuming welcome that drew him into its embrace.

What Don saw within the Heart almost defied his ability to quantify. Ethereal gossamer patterns woven by bands of light and droplets of stardust shimmered in crystalline structures that shifted as though blown in the wind. Prismatic colors winked and danced and sparkled in the air and hummed along the strands of the Heart's own heartstrings.

But what he felt...

Donatello sank into a feeling of easy rightness, of profound belonging, of infinite joy.

Into a nameless Song he had touched but once before.

Tendrils of hope brushed against the shadows of pain in his mind and heart, easing them like a warm compress on a sore muscle.

Boundless understanding and acceptance wove themselves through his thoughts until he was numb to all but being _safe_ and _wanted_ and _whole_.

And then somewhere deep, deep in his spirit, so deep it had only awoken with a dragon's soul, resounded an echoing truth that had no words.

Yet it spoke of goodness and love and loyalty and kindness.

Of innate worth and worthiness.

Of the glory of life made manifest.

It took Donatello an eternity to understand that this was what the Heart felt about him and not the other way around.

And he fell sobbing in relief and joy and wonder into an inexorable embrace of eternal love.

-==OOO==-

"And you agree, young one?" Aunt Kria asked softly. "In your good the Heart saw?"

Donatello sat at her feet, his head back and more relaxed than she had ever known him to be – even a full day after his time within the Heart.

"It was impossible to be even a little bit unhappy while I was there and...every time I think about the Heart, I feel it all over again. Not like I did, not as strongly, but enough. Like a dream that's been burned into my memory."

"A good dream?"

"The _best_ dream."

Krian'daren smiled over his head. His entire body radiated a great peace, and the continuing reduction of both stress and those toxins built up by pain and suffering.

"If this the answer of the Heart, maybe I send you on quarter-rhythms," she told him. "It does what I only do when inside your skin."

Don smiled. "I think if I tried to go there that often I'd just become a pile of jelly. Happy jelly, but jelly."

"Happy is the part that I care about you."

They talked for another hour, Aunt Kria prying out Donatello's feelings on his job (going well, still overwhelming that he was that important and respected, but a good, healthy sort of overwhelming), his feelings of loss (still present, but acceptance was growing and anguish was lessening), and his explorations with Yoshi's secrets (amazing!). At the end, she patted him on the head.

"Four rhythms and much you change. Much better, much in balance. You cope with skill now."

Don looked up at her. "Does that mean we're going to stop meeting?"

"You not so easy to leave me yet," she replied. "Still much to do, still many hurts to find. But soon we make different times of not all mornings, I think."

"Okay. To be honest, I think I'm not ready to stop yet, either. Even if I don't need it anymore, it...being here...it just helps."

"Yes."

Don got to his feet and bowed to her deeply as he always did at the end of a session. "Thank you, Aunt Kria."

"You always are welcome, Donatello." She returned the gesture with one of her own homeworld that involved her elbows.

But as Don rose, his instincts made sleepy by his Heart-induced bliss – but not totally turned off – sounded a warning. He straightened and spun, grabbing for his bo on the floor.

Krian'daren rose from her chair. "What…?"

She didn't even manage to finish the question before the explosion.


	5. Revolution

Hello all! Enter a little more excitement in our quiet Utrom Homeworld. And Donatello continuing to be exceptional.

Next week is the last chapter of this Act, and then things get...a little more interesting.

I feel like I should have something more clever to say at this point, but I really don't. This has been an amazing journey so far, and I am so grateful to share it with all of you. I think I look forward to Mondays as much as you do, because I get to share something new with you, and I get to wait for your reactions and your kindnesses. You are amazing people. Thank you for sharing that amazingness with me every single week.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 5: Revolution

* * *

Donatello…

 _Donatello..._

" _Donatello, I have something for you," Zayton said._

 _Don looked up from his notes, careful to set his pencil down where he had left off so he wouldn't lose track of his spot in the equations for physical-to-digital transformations. "What's up, Professor?"_

 _Zayton held out a slim device. "You know that many Utrom in the collective have no need for what on Earth are termed cell phones because they can do many of the same things with their mobility discs, yes?"_

 _Don nodded. "I'd figured something like that, but kept forgetting to ask."_

" _Well, as I have the same capability installed in my robotic body, I wanted you and Leatherhead to have something similar. I hope you will accept it."_

" _Accept it? Sure!" Don eagerly grabbed the device, noting it was already built so he could clip it onto his belt, and turned it over in his hands in fascination at the interface._

" _I will go over its entire functionality with you shortly, but there is one thing I wish you to see at once," Zayton said. "On the underside of the device is a sliding switch and a button which has been coded to your DNA. With the switch in its current position, nothing will happen. And you may add other functionality to it if you wish. But should you flip the switch and press the button, an emergency signal will be sent to myself, Leatherhead, Mortu, and the Guardians that will allow us to pinpoint your location and reach you as quickly as possible."_

 _Don looked at him. "A panic button?"_

" _Yes. Though I am confident of our safety on the Homeworld, experience suggests preparedness is always prudent. And I wish you to have the ability to call for help should an emergency arise, my boy."_

" _Thanks, Professor. Now, can you tell me how to make a normal call?"_

" _Of course, Donatello…"_

 _Donatello..._

"Donatello!"

Don's eyes snapped open to opaque clouds.

Facts poured into his awareness like water. He was sore, flat on his plastron on a hard surface – _a floor_ , his mind concluded swiftly – and the air was full of a strange smell and stranger powder. Could powder be wet?

 _Apparently. Because it is._

 _Not powder. Dust. Fine debris._

A hand was on his arm, shaking him and calling his name. _Aunt Kria?_

And his head and ears were ringing in the aftermath of the…

 _Explosion!_

Don's mind snapped back to its normal speed and he pushed himself upright even as he fumbled at his belt. His hands were shaky as he got himself back into order, but he still managed to hit the switch and press the panic button on his communicator before he got his knees under him.

"Are you all right, Aunt Kria?" he whispered, looking at his doctor and friend.

Her skin was almost papery-pale under the fine dust that swirled in the clouds of smoke that remained in the air, but her eyes were calm.

"Yes. But I fear…"

"I know," he told her. _It could maybe be an accident, but I don't think so. This is an attack. An ambush. Which means whoever arranged it is waiting for us to come running out of our little corner and right into their arms._

 _An explosion big enough to knock me for a loop probably took out a wall, or at least the door. There's no way of knowing how many there are behind this or even if they meant to come for Aunt Kria and me or if their aim was a neighbor elsewhere. Either way, they ticked off the wrong turtle._

He saw that Krian'daren held his bo in one hand while the other remained in contact with his skin and he took it from her.

 _Let's see if they're ready for a little payback._

He quickly oriented himself to where the doorway should have been in the room. "We need to move. I'll go first."

"Why?" Krian'daren asked.

Don didn't say, "Because I'm more disposable," but he couldn't help thinking it.

However, she knew him too well and jabbed him in the arm with a firm blue finger. "Not the time for your fears, young one." She was not speaking English for once, but her own native language.

"I know, but now's all I've got." He shrugged. "Okay. Let's go."

Don spun the bo once before he slipped into the practice of stealth. Just because he couldn't see through the dust didn't mean someone else couldn't see him, too, but he was determined that they at least wouldn't be able to hear him.

That lasted about four steps until Aunt Kria stepped on what looked through the fog like a piece of now-brittle wall which gave a loud crack.

Krian'daren looked to Donatello and covered her nose with two fingers, her people's silent way of apologizing. Don nodded, but then knelt and held his hands out behind his shell. After a moment, she understood his meaning and climbed onto his back, latching her grip to the top ridge of his shell and bracing her feet against his scutes.

 _Good thing she's tiny. I couldn't do this with Leatherhead, though he's not too shabby at stealth._

 _And he and everybody else should be on their way here soon. Whatever we're up against, I just have to hold out until then._

 _Knowing Mortu, he'll call up the entire Utrom Secrete Obscura. For such a pacifistic culture, they have one scary Black Ops division. Scary enough, it's no wonder he didn't want to tell us about them._

 _Which is kinda the point. You can't necessarily attain peace without someone willing to do the dirty work to enforce it. And if they're doing that work, they pretty much have to do it covertly._

 _Focus, Donnie. Aunt Kria's counting on you._

An inner warning blared and Don ducked to the side, just missing being impaled by three darts that whistled through the fog.

 _Not fog. Dust from the walls from the drying out of whatever these things are. Trees? I have got to reading up some more on Homeworld biology. Or at least construction. It's no good getting cornered in a building if I don't know how to get out of it._

 _Like the TCRI building._

 _Getting out wasn't the problem. Getting in was._

 _How did we…?_

 _Oh. Right._

Moving on silent feet, Don angled back towards the corner where he had woken up, every sense extended for the sounds of someone invading the area. To her credit, Krian'daren trusted her patient and did nothing but tighten her grip as he stopped beside a warm, pinkish-beige colored wall and pulled something out of his belt.

Don strapped on the shuko spikes he had brought from Earth and hadn't needed to use until this moment – but as long as he was wearing his belt, he had never been without them, both hands and knees.

 _The wall feels alive but it's clearly made of something that is brittle enough to crumble. Which means I can dig the spikes into it and get a new angle on things._

A few quick pulls and Don was off the floor and rapidly ascending.

 _I've definitely lost weight since the last time I did this. Or gained strength. Or maybe both. Even with Aunt Kria, it's not too bad._

Silent as a spider, Donatello made his way up high and then around, listening for whoever had shot darts, whoever had set off the explosion. The clouds kicked up by the blast were just beginning to thin when Don threw a chunk of wall stuck in his spikes at the nearest lights hanging from the ceiling. One by one, he plunged the room into darkness to cover the decreasing concealment.

 _It feels like I'm in a game of Ninja Hide and Seek with Leo,_ he thought, and he ignored the pang of remembrance that came with it. _Anybody else would have been charging or shouting or something by now._

 _Posit: I'm actually dealing with some kind of alien ninja. Pretty good ninja, going by the silence._

 _Consequence: The only reason to send ninja here and not any other kind of fighter is if they know I am ninja. And they think like ninja._

 _Result: They expect me to think like ninja._

 _Conclusion: To beat them, I either have to out-ninja them or I have to be something other than ninja._

 _Okay. Let's change it up and hope these guys don't know how to think on their feet._

Donatello climbed down the wall to crouch along the floor. Then he wandered until he found a place the wall had a seam. He knew from the construction of his own office that Utrom buildings, at least the modern ones in Central, reinforced their natural forms with metal. Aunt Kria's office was in a building that clearly had natural walls, but Don was willing to bet that the walls were brought in later, like drywall on Earth, and that the building itself was built on a skeleton of metal.

And either way, there were access ports for power just like in any other building in the galaxy.

Don pulled open the access port and peeked inside. It looked to him like the room itself might be cased in metal and then covered with a more natural substance for aesthetic reasons.

 _I bet they also made this building adaptable for many species. And just like in my office or my apartment, if I were a creature that needed extreme temperatures to survive, they would have to be able to heat the place really efficiently. So the room is built like an oven._

 _And if there's metal in the floor and power flowing, we're in business._

Donatello stripped out a few power-cords with the same ease for these Utrom types that he had once had on Earth with human wiring. The Utrom builders were very consistent when it came to how they ran cord and how they colored it depending on what it was meant to do.

Don identified the right cord and exposed the metal conductor in it before reaching all the way into the hole and sticking it to the metal that held up the floor.

 _Now comes the hard part._

It took him what felt like forever but was probably only a matter of minutes to traverse the entire area by going along the ceiling to reach the other side. When he found walls blown out, he ducked into them, trying to put as much distance between himself and his first junction as possible. Along the way, he identified a group of strangers obviously keeping quiet but searching for something.

 _I bet they blew out an entire row of walls and they're not quite sure which room to check. Doesn't matter. If I do this right, the whole level will feel it._

When he reached a wall that was still solid, he crawled down it and sought out another access port. He repeated the operation on the other side, then reached for the main power conduit for the building and spliced it into his system.

In moments, he could sense the energy gathering below him as the floor became slowly magnetized.

Within a minute, as he kept pumping power from the conduit into his rigged system, he heard the first crash as an Utrom disc was yanked to the floor, as well as a shout of indignance.

 _Gotcha._

Donatello would have been content to just await the cavalry while his little trick caught up anyone carrying too much metal, but a moment later an indistinct form appeared out of the darkness.

Don took up his bo from where he had set it and charged, cognizant of Aunt Kria vulnerable on his back.

The fight was brief but its sounds brought others, and within moments Donatello was fending off enemies on all sides. He had to keep spinning defensively to keep Krian'daren away from whoever surrounded them, and he also had to be wary of more darts sent in his direction.

 _But I'm not going down. Not now. These people came into my session, threatened me and Aunt Kria, and apparently didn't care who they hurt when they blasted this section of the building. I'm going to make them sorry they ever got out of bed this morning!_

Don leaped to make a split kick, followed by a dragon kick, before twirling his bo to knock a dart gun from an outstretched hand. As the gun hit the ground, light burst over them all and the humming of Don's improvised electromagnet died.

Instinctively, Donatello darted away to try to get his shell to a wall.

A voice rang out.

"This is the Secrete Obscura of the Utrom High Council. You are surrounded. Put down your weapons at once!"

Suddenly, Aunt Kria cried out. "Donatello! Beware!"

Don turned just before a huge, indigo alien slammed a fist into his face – and he still got clipped on the shoulder. Don spun away, losing his bo because he had to hold onto Krian'daren to keep her from being flung.

"Guardians, go!" came a familiar human voice.

And then a bone-shaking roar sounded. " _Leave my friend alone!_ "

Don stumbled, both hands back around his shell to hold Aunt Kria in place. "Leatherhead?"

Leatherhead stormed through the bright light, eyes split with rage and seeming twice his normal size. The large indigo creature, who reminded Donatello bizarrely of a shower spigot, put up an arm to block, but there was no defense against Leatherhead's fury. With one motion, the crocodile lifted the alien and flung him into a wall.

Guardian Bonani Owens appeared at Donatello's elbow. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Don said, staring at Leatherhead. "I mean, I guess. But what the _shell_ is going on?"

"We don't know," Bonani said. "But I promise you, we will find out."

Don nodded, noting the sounds of a charging force of warriors – Mortu's reinforcements. Then he looked up to Krian'daren's face. "Can you…?"

She began to slide at once from his shell. "Obvious. Go, Donatello."

He looked back up to his Guardian friend. "Will you protect her?"

Bonani drew his sword. "With my life, my friend."

"Thanks."

And Donatello moved towards where Leatherhead was lost in himself.

"LH?" he called gently.

Leatherhead snapped at the air, his tongue writhing between his teeth.

"Come on, big guy. It's me. It's Donnie." He reached out his hands. "Come back, Leatherhead."

Leatherhead shuddered.

Donatello crossed the distance between them and put a hand on his friend's chest. "Please. Leatherhead. My brother. Don't…" Tears pricked at his eyes and not from the dust in the air. "Please don't leave us."

Leatherhead gave a shake and blinked and his eyes grew round and concerned.

He folded an arm around Donatello and gave a low pur. "I am here, Donatello. I am here."

Don nodded against him, relieved and limp with it for a moment, before he straightened his shoulders. "Thanks for coming when I needed you."

"As if any of us would do otherwise, my friend. I am only sorry for the tardiness of our arrival and my...behavior."

"Don't sweat it. Any of it," Don told him. "But I really hope somebody's got some answers."

-==OOO==-

It took about three hours for everything to be sorted out to the satisfaction of the High Council before Mortu and Bonani were able to join Donatello and Leatherhead and Zayton with an explanation. The five of them met in the Guardians' dojo, which was empty for once – the Guardian force had been deployed as an extra security measure against subsequent attacks.

"First," Mortu said, "you must understand that what I am about to tell you is not well known even on the Homeworld outside of those of us who work for the High Council or the Secrete Obscura. Even Krian'daren would not be told except that she will likely pester me and you until one of us reveals all."

Don smirked. "I wouldn't put it past her, no."

"I will spare you both the trouble and tell her myself sometime later," Bonani offered.

"Thank you," Mortu told him with real gratitude. "Anyway, the attack upon you was perpetrated by a group that calls themselves the Enlightened Ones."

Don looked to Leatherhead, but he was just as clueless. Even Professor Honn'i'kedt gave a metallic shrug.

"The Enlightened Ones are a terrorist sect made up of Utrom as well as members of other species," Mortu said. "They have two goals which, in my opinion, are rather contrary to one another, but we never assume that fanatics make sense, either."

Don thought about some of the fanatics he'd met in his own strange lifetime and couldn't help but agree.

"The first goal of the Enlightened Ones is the downfall of the High Council. Not the Homeworld – there are too many Utrom in their ranks to actually do lasting harm to the planet, but they would like to unseat the High Council and abolish its entire structure."

Don's eye-ridges went up.

The High Council was more than the handful of Utrom who sat together in the brain-like building and spoke with a single voice. The entire Collective was managed politically by the High Council, and it constituted hundreds of members. Just as the navigators of Mortu's ship that crashed on Earth had been three beings but linked through Utrom technology to form a single mind, the High Council worked the same way.

Any beings (for there were others as the Collective spanned many species) who chose to serve on the High Council would undergo a procedure vastly more complicated than the repairs Krian'daren had made in Donatello's brain; it would mirror how the Oracle Pods could allow a user to experience another's memory or thoughts – but in real-time, linking them all together remotely.

When he'd learned about it, Don had not been able to keep himself from making a Star Trek Borg joke. Only Leatherhead had laughed.

From the outside, all the beings in the High Council spoke together with one voice, but from within, according to them, each member's voice was entirely their own. All decisions were made with a complicated debating, voting, and consensus procedure that went on in their shared consciousness, all of which could be done virtually instantaneously. It was in this way that the High Council could simultaneously rule in every city in the Collective as long as they had a member there, could arbitrate petty crimes and serious offenses, could advise and command at any level of society as a single voice of authority. They were literally one voice.

Don wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with it – it sounded a little _1984_ _Big-Brother_ -ish to him – but he couldn't deny that it was, at least, efficient. And he had read up on how the High Council was open to any citizen of the Collective who met the Heart's approval and was willing to give up their life to the cause, so many people of various strong opinions and of different citizenships had joined it. It was numbered in the hundreds and spread over every planet in the Collective and a few beyond as ambassadors.

It was also why some of the Collective's neighbors were wary of them: not only was that level of psychic mingling generally considered by others to be taboo at the least, but there was no way to politically take advantage. Even in a dictatorship, one might be able to negotiate secretly with a powerful bureaucrat or ranking member of the dictator's inner circle; with the Collective, to speak with any governmental authority was to speak with them all.

Still, even if one could argue about the system, one could not reasonably argue it should be dismantled. Utrom society had been ruled by a High Council since before achieving spaceflight thousands of years prior.

Leatherhead's snout went tense with anger. "Abolish the High Council _how_?"

Mortu just looked at him. "Exactly as you think."

He growled.

"Easy, big guy," Don said, patting him on the arm. "They're not gonna have any luck with us around."

"Yes." Bonani nodded. "The Secrete Obscura will not permit them to succeed. The Guardians' first priority on the Homeworld is the defense of the High Council itself." He gave a small smile. "Our membership in the Secrete Obscura is almost entirely unknown but to ourselves."

Don blinked. "I was unknown to _me_! I knew you guys were protecting the Homeworld, but I thought it was more…ceremonial."

"Not that we were an arm of Mortu's own force?"

Mortu made a strange sound and Donatello laughed out loud.

Leatherhead made a waving motion. "No, Mortu, you didn't tell us. But I assure you, if we had not assumed as much before today, we did, in fact, watch you command the entire Secrete Obscura brigade as we ran to Donatello's defense. Please give us some credit."

Mortu made a face, wrinkling the entire area above his mouth and Don's translator told him it was the Utrom version of both a warning you'll-be-in-trouble-later look and an annoyed grimace. Beside him, Bonani bowed sharply.

"Forgive me, Mister Mortu. You told me you intended to inform your friends as to your true position when they arrived. The Professor was already aware."

"And sworn to secrecy," Zayton put in. "But there's no point in, as they say on Earth, crying over a spilled glass of milk. As Leatherhead said, they already guessed."

"It was kinda obvious," Don put in. "I mean, 'security consultant' was a good cover but, well, as soon as I found out about the Secrete Obscura, I had a feeling you were more than just an advisor." He opted not to point out that the humans had hidden their connection to the Secrete Obsurca much better than his friend.

Mortu's expression melted to a more normal frown. "Be that as it may, as head of the Secrete Obscura, I must ask you to attempt to keep my function a secret. It is our way to hide our leadership from any but the High Council and our own members for our protection and that of our friends and allies."

"No problem," Don told him. "Trust me, I understand that."

"So," Leatherhead said, "if the first goal of the so-called _Enlightened Ones_ ," and he growled over their name, "is to remove the High Council, what is the second?"

"The reason they wish to end the High Council is to ensure there is no united force which can oppose them from eliminating any and all species in the galaxy which are violent in order to ensure a perfect peace."

Don felt his chin drop and was surprised it didn't hit the floor. "Wait. _What_?"

"That's correct," Bonani said, his own face twisted with distaste. "They believe that the way to true peace is to eradicate all species who have any sort of aggressive or violent tendencies from every planet in the galaxy. With only non-violent species left, they believe the galaxy will know total peace at last."

Leatherhead sputtered. "That doesn't even make sense! Do they include non-sentient carnivores who must hunt prey in that?"

"It depends on who you ask," Mortu said. His forehead bounced – an Utrom eye-roll. "Some would eliminate all creatures who prey on others just for the principle of the thing. Others are only concerned with species developed enough to move from natural predation to making war on one another."

Zayton shook his head. "Such foolishness. To kill billions in the name of peace? It is a perversion of the very concept."

"So what did they want with me?" Don wanted to know.

"They were after the secrets of your technology," Bonani said. "If they could find a way to combine digital information such as a virus and the physical and mental connection that exists between the Council members, they would have a potent weapon."

Don's stomach flopped and he thought he might throw up.

Now it was Leatherhead soothing him, putting an arm across his shell and giving him something solid to lean on. "My brother, be at peace. They failed. You protected yourself well."

"And your project is encrypted by the High Council's own security," Zayton reminded him, "which they would have to break after getting through _our_ combined measures. I assure you – I am a digital being to whom no mere computer is immune and even I could not get through."

"They're right, Donatello," Mortu said. "But a few new security precautions need to be taken in light of the attempt."

Don nodded wordlessly, grateful for Leatherhead's support.

"Together, we will further enhance the security around your lab and apartment," Mortu said, "until the Homeworld buckles under the weight of our guards around your information. As for your physical safety, I have no doubt of your capabilities, but we will begin working on other ways to protect you from the unexpected or unfair attack."

"And we," Bonani said, "will guard you as well, my friend. If you can forgive the imposition."

"Yeah," Don said, his throat dry. "I...I've caused trouble before, you know. Like that whole thing with telling the Triceratons how to find you, Professor, or getting Master Splinter lost in cyberspace. Or, you know, the Outbreak Virus mutation where my brothers ended up freeing the Heralds of the demon Shredder and then we had to deal with him and almost destroyed the whole world…"

He drifted off into an old, keen guilt, but Leatherhead gave him a squeeze and rumbled in support.

Don took a deep breath. "I don't...I don't ever want to be the reason anybody ever gets hurt again. Not ever. I'll take whatever protections you want. Gladly."

Mortu floated closer and patted Don's shoulder with one short tentacle.

"Don't fear, my friend. With all of us working together, there is nothing we cannot do to protect this world."

-==OOO==-

After dinner, Donatello retreated to his room as was his custom. He had many things to consider, and work to do at the Institute since his day had been rather interrupted, but he needed this time, too.

Needed to find some kind of serenity after the terror of what might have been.

Settling on his mat, he drew Master Yoshi's memory sphere into his hands and closed his eyes.

"Guide me, Master."

With the hum of the Heart still shimmering in his spirit in spite of everything – or maybe because of it – Donatello could not help but be drawn towards that particular set of memories.

Don wandered the now-familiar paths of gold until he reached the cluster of memories that were about the Heart; now that he had experienced it for himself, he understood even more clearly what Yoshi had so cherished about it. Donatello positioned himself to pass the test Yoshi had encoded at each cluster within his memories.

 _What is the Heart?_

Don couldn't have answered it in words if he'd tried, but he didn't have to – instead, he opened his own heart wide and let the memory of it fill him. Unlike with other memories, where Don had to shift and consider until he found the right combination of feelings and beliefs that admitted him, this time it took only an instant of that shining feeling before the cluster accepted him.

At once, Don almost woke out of meditation entirely from the shock that met him at the very first truth Yoshi had known that now came to his grandson.

 _The Heart is a being which, unlike any other living thing I have sensed, exists simultaneously in multiple dimensions._

 _A person may travel to the Battle Nexus with care, but they cannot be both on Earth and in the Nexus._

 _But the Heart exists as it is across everywhere in spacetime where there is a Homeworld._

 _This is why I believe it does not show awareness when the Utrom speak to it or when I sense it among the stars. Its intelligence is in another world._

 _But there is no denying that the Heart's spirit is everywhere._

"Wow," Don muttered as it washed over him, not necessarily words but memories, sensations, fragments of images. "That sort of makes sense, though. So this Homeworld is kind of operating as one of many unconscious minds of the Heart, and its consciousness is in another dimension entirely."

The joy in his own heart rose up to meet Yoshi's from his brief touch of the Heart and together they glowed intensely bright.

"I think it's probably okay that the Heart isn't 'awake' here," Don considered. "Given the force and power of its unconscious spirit in this dimension, I think we'd all be squashed flat under its sheer presence. Or else we'd all fall into oblivious worship."

As it was, the intensity of the feelings was a little much for Don, so he decided to let further revelations about the Heart wait for another day. Instead, he seized onto something from Yoshi's memories.

"He was at the Battle Nexus, I remember. I've seen the statue. I wonder what that was like."

So he exited from the Heart cluster and headed back towards Yoshi's memories of his ninjutsu training and various battles. He had already spent a lot of time sifting through lessons and tracking which techniques he wished to memorize in order to practice them in the real world, so it took him little time to find Yoshi's experience of the Battle Nexus.

The duels of the Championship all came to him and he sank into the memories until he felt as if his own body were moving in Yoshi's place. Don tried to commit them all to memory, every move and defense and technique.

More than ever, he needed to find a way to protect himself and that which he built for good but could be used for far greater evil.

As if that desire reached into the memories themselves, Donatello found himself watching something he did not expect.

Yoshi was conversing quietly with the Daimyo as he prepared to return to Earth.

" _I will send you if you wish, Champion," the Daimyo offered._

 _Yoshi bowed to him. "Thank you, Daimyo, but the exercise of such power is one I wish to study further for myself."_

 _The Daimyo nodded. "Yes, I see in you the innate wisdom which may lead you to comprehend and command the very barriers between worlds."_

" _My Sensei's own teachers are masters of such," Yoshi said. "They may not only move between worlds with ease, but can create space where there is none and fold their secrets within it – those that are not too dangerous to lose sight of, that is."_

" _Such skill takes great practice and great spiritual power. I sense, Champion, that even if you do not succeed in your aim, your lineage may one day fulfill that desire."_

" _I hope it is so, honored Daimyo."_

Donatello jerked out of the memory with a shock.

"The Ninja Tribunal...I never thought about it...but they could pull things out of thin air. Literally! If it's just a dimensional fold, though, a pocket dimension...if I could figure out how to create one…"

He broke out of meditation entirely.

"If I could figure out how to resurrect enough of my spiritual powers to control a dimensional fold, not only could I hide the things too dangerous to leave out, but they'd be totally safe!"

He glanced at his bed. At the drawer beneath.

 _Byakko. I haven't tried to summon your powers since the amulets were broken. But if I can...if I can find the power inside myself like we learned...maybe I can do this, too._

He rose and moved to his bed, pulling open the drawer. Without looking at the others, he reverently lifted his violet trident from its place and held it.

 _Commander of the Wind. Spirit of the air._

 _I remember the studying. I remember the books._

 _I remember manifesting my energy._

 _The amulets made it easier…_

 _...but nothing is impossible._

A trickle of power wound around him. Donatello closed his eyes.

 _I can feel it._

 _Weak. Barely there._

 _But it's inside me._

 _And if I work hard enough to bring it out…_

 _...if I have the will to try and fail and try and fail a thousand times and never falter..._

He opened his eyes.

"Then nothing is beyond me."

-==OOO==-

In the morning, Donatello met Krian'daren earlier than usual, setting off after a quick breakfast of little more than coffee.

Because her office – and several others in the building – had been destroyed, he went to the healing center where she had living quarters.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked her almost immediately upon seeing her.

She smiled at him. "No harm at all. You protect well."

"I'm so glad," he said, dropping to sit beside her chair. "I mean, I know I saw you yesterday and everything seemed okay but there's always the chance you got whiplash or something that wouldn't show up right away."

She gave him a pat with one finger, which his translator told him was her way of silencing him.

"Sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "I'm just...a little scattered today."

"Clearly so. Tell me, then," she said, settling her hands on his head and reading him while Don poured out everything on his mind. Bonani had already had his meeting with her, so Don didn't have to stumble around the idea of Mortu as head of the Secrete Obscura.

He also didn't have to go into much detail about the previous guilts that made him so quick to accept protection, including the two Guardians who had accompanied him and stood posted outside the door even now; he had had enough time with her in the last rhythms to go through his memories of the Triceraton search for Zayton, the Outbreak Virus and its consequences, and Splinter's digitization.

They talked through the attack and the Enlightened Ones' aim, and how it could have gone another way and what they would have done about it. They talked about Don's decision to work harder on both his martial arts and his mystical arts to find new ways of protecting himself and the things he treasured. And they talked about Donatello switching his focus for a time to inter-dimensional realities.

"The idea that the Heart's conscious in another dimension is wild," Don said at one point. "I can't imagine what would happen if its mind came here, even for a minute. I think maybe the Utrom would explode."

He said it jokingly, but Aunt Kria went still. "I think...we should hope to not see it."

And then she made Don talk about the idea of using the portal stick again, not to interact with his family, but as part of his research, and he slogged through the emotions that brought to mind.

But he had changed in the course of his sessions with her. The tearing, soul-killing grief he had originally carried from losing his family had abated into something bearable, something he could live with, even at times when it came up unexpectedly. He was not afraid of himself or his thoughts in the way he had been. And with the physical repair, even his strongest feelings did not carry him so close to madness.

Still, as they spoke, Krian'daren noticed something.

Don had learned her signals by now, and he recognized that stilling of fingertips, that slight increase of pressure, to mean she had found something.

"What is it?"

"How to explain?" she replied. "A wind current going away circled by a current coming near. A song inside a song." She felt for a few more seconds. "Not dangerous. But strange."

"Well," Don said, "maybe spending all that time in Yoshi's sphere is rubbing off on me. I've always been able to compartmentalize my mind, but I never tried to actually create an area like a vault in there."

"Do you wish?"

Don thought for a moment. "Yesterday, I would have said no. But now...if the Enlightened Ones had gotten hold of me, if they'd stuck me in an Oracle Pod or a Triceraton mind-reader, what if I couldn't have kept them from getting the information they wanted? I think...there are some things in my mind too dangerous not to protect."

"I will watch it grow, young one. If I fear, you will stop. Yes?"

"Yes, Aunt Kria. I promise."

-==OOO==-

For the next two rhythms, Donatello's life became an almost frenzied rush of research and study. He still met with Krian'daren, but only every three days in a quarter-rhythm rather than every day. Now, he devoted himself almost entirely to his academic studies at the Science Institute, his metaphysical studies, and his training. The latter two of these he combined as well; Donatello spent yet more time in Yoshi's mind, memorizing techniques and then bringing them to the Guardians for them all to practice together.

There were no further attacks, but the uncertainty drove Don even harder in his quest to ensure he could always protect himself and his knowledge.

And Donatello being Donatello, with every step of progress he made, new inventions came from it.

After two rhythms, Zayton and Myle – one of the Utrom from his thesis panel who was also part of the Institute's governing board and head of the mechanical engineering department – approached him one day while he was working in his office/lab at the Institute.

Don looked up from where he had spread half the floor of the downstairs with different spheres, each projecting sets of equations. Don was hunched in the middle of them, piecing them together in his messy scrawl on a datapad.

"Hey guys. Come on in."

Myle blinked an Utrom greeting. "We would like to speak with you, if you have some time to spare."

Since there was little floor upon which they could walk without disturbing his setup, Don decided to meet them halfway – he made a leap across the floor to perch on the stairs up to his office area. "Let's go up here."

Upstairs, Don didn't even bother trying to hide his desk's chaos; he just took a seat in his chair and gestured for the pair to make themselves comfortable. Zayton, of course, had no reason to need to be comfortable, but he sat because it was polite; Myle seated xyrself on the wide railing.

"Professor Honn'i'kedt has been telling us about some of your findings thus far," xe began. "And your students who continue on the mechanical and computer engineering tracks have had nothing but praise for your advancements and your teaching."

Don blushed. "That's not really my doing. With such a crop of brilliant individuals, I don't think they wouldn't find ways to learn something even from someone like me."

Zayton folded his arms. "Your students, to a being, have spoken of your creativity, your willingness to test and try new, sometimes bizarre ideas, and your support for their pursuits. You may have little experience in the art of teaching, but you are a fine mentor, Donatello."

"Yes," Myle said. "The Institute does not tell its members when they are being assessed to see if they are fitting in well with the rest of our community, and your ultimate results are not quite finalized, but I don't mind telling you that you score as high as some of our finest and longest-tenured."

Don swallowed. "I...wow. Thanks." Then he shook himself. "That's not what you came to tell me, though, right?"

"No," Myle said. "We have come to ask if you would mind sharing some of your insights and findings and also your unique process on a wider scale."

"A wider scale?"

Zayton spoke up. "Every other flow or so in the Utrom calendar, the Science Institute hosts open forums and seminars where many of the researchers and faculty may choose to present their materials. It is a chance for the general Homeworld population to come and educate themselves about our work and our new discoveries. The seminars are quite popular and some are even broadcast by the Homeworld media across the Collective."

Don looked back at Myle. "And you want me for this?"

Xyr eyes held his. "Very much so, Astrocyte. Your work here has been nothing short of astounding in the short time you have been with us, and already you have done things no one in the Institute has ever imagined. I think you have earned your chance to further your reputation and to begin opening new minds to your way of seeing the universe."

With praise like that, how could he refuse?

So Donatello prepared one of his inventions and all his lecture notes for the symposium to be held in fifteen days.

Leatherhead had also been invited, and he shook his head at Donatello's ease. "How can you not find such short notice disturbing?" he asked.

Don grinned. "I'm used to building on the fly to put something into use in the middle of a battle with sometimes less than an hour to prepare. Fifteen days is practically _forever_."

But he did agree to help Leatherhead with his own notes.

-==OOO==-

Four days before the start of the seminars – and Donatello went incredibly red when he discovered that his lecture was the one scheduled in the prime spot of the afternoon as the overall keynote presentation – Bonani tapped on the apartment door during Donatello's daily meditation time.

"Come in," Leatherhead invited the Guardian. "Donatello is up in his room but I can alert him to your presence if you wish."

But Bonani shook his head. "What I have to say is for you and the Professor only."

Leatherhead's eye-ridges went up and he waved the Guardian to come sit on their couch while Zayton descended from the second level workspace.

Bonani looked at them both with grave steadiness. "Mister Mortu spoke privately to Donatello, but Don asked him not to speak to you. I believe this is in error, though I know he does it out of a concern for you."

"What is it?" Zayton asked.

"Normally, we Guardians attend the symposium both to educate ourselves and to ensure nothing...goes awry. However, most of my force has been called away on an assignment."

"What assignment?" Leatherhead wanted to know.

Guardian Owens shook his head. "I cannot disclose it to you. But it is very important and it requires skills unique to us."

Zayton tipped his head. "Then who will be guarding the symposium? In light of the attack upon Donatello, caution must be taken to ensure his safety, to say nothing of the safety of everyone else."

"I know," Bonani said. "At Mister Mortu's own request, Donatello has been named a temporary member of the Secrete Obscura and authorized to do what he must in our absence. And there will, of course, be the other Secrete Obscura agents."

"But you're worried," Leatherhead finished.

He nodded. "My instincts tell me that it may not be a coincidence that a situation requiring almost the entire Guardian force happens to be taking place at the same time as the symposium. I trust Mister Mortu and his agents, and I trust Donatello but…"

"It's all right," Zayton said, infusing warmth into his voice. "None of us wants anything to happen to anyone, and we all can be of at least some help should disaster strike."

"Do you have any suggestions for us?" Leatherhead asked. "I have not been trained to fight as you and Donatello, but I am strong and would do anything for my people."

"I believe," Guardian Owens said as he stood to leave, "that you would know what to do if the occasion called for it. And when in doubt, I have faith in Donatello's ability to find the best course of action under duress. If you cannot get direction from Mister Mortu, follow him."

Leatherhead snorted. "I would do that anyway."

Bonani bowed to them. "Then I will bid you farewell. We leave within the hour. Take care of one another and guard the Homeworld in our absence."

Leatherhead ducked his head and Zayton nodded.

As they showed him out, they did not see that Donatello had emerged from his own room and was crouched in front of his door listening.

Guardian Bonani Owens may have noticed, but if so, he had deliberately kept it to himself.

 _I've got a bad feeling, too_ , Don thought. _But there's no way I'll let anybody get hurt. If something happens during my seminar, they're going to be in for a shell of a fight._

-==OOO==-

The alarm sounded just as Donatello was about halfway through his lecture. The lights flickered and turned dark orange and a voice echoed through the entire Institute.

"Emergency. Please evacuate as quickly as possible. If not possible, take shelter in a securable location."

Don drew his bo and hit the communicator on his belt.

"Mortu, what's happening?" he demanded. Mortu had meant to attend Don's lecture but had been called away at the last moment for 'security concerns.' Apparently those concerns had been fully justified.

Meanwhile, Zayton and Leatherhead had both been in attendance and began shepherding the attendees to exits that led away from the main corridors.

"Donatello!" came Mortu's voice, sharp and angry. "They are heading your way! We've been cut off. Get your people out of there and take cover!"

"How many?" Don asked.

"At least sixty that we've seen so far, but reports are still coming in."

 _Great. Sixty. Might as well be five hundred._

 _Okay, Donnie. This is what you prepared yourself to handle. So handle it!_

"Leatherhead!" Don yelled over the din of people panicking and fleeing. "Secure the doors to the hallway if you can! Zayton, get everyone to my lab. I locked it down just in case so it should be safe. You know my override code."

Don looked over the room. It was the Institute's largest lecture-hall and seated about two-thousand beings comfortably, twice that when Utrom on their discs hovered along the walls and above heads. There were Utrom-specific exits for emergencies cut into the ceilings and high up on walls, and those who could utilize them were already crowding out through the little tunnels that would let out away from the Institute.

 _At absolute maximum squeezing, you might get three hundred beings piled on top of each other into my lab, more if they're mostly Utrom, fewer if they're claustrophobic. That leaves a lot of people in hallways and in harm's way._

 _Looks like I'm going to be buying time for the evacuation._

Certainty and stillness settled into his soul. With the plan decided, all there was left to do was carry it out.

First, Donatello secured everything he had brought for his presentation into a bag that hung at his hip. Then, with flying fingers hastened by the shouting and panic around him, he hacked into the Institute's system through a backdoor he had built for just this purpose. While he brought up security footage on his own screen before him, he also chased down and eradicated anything of his projects from any computer file that wasn't secured in the digital vault he and Honn'i'kedt had specifically built.

It was a testament to the number of times Donatello had done just this sort of thing before that he could multitask so efficiently. His fingers raced through programs and databases, purging and scrambling the trail he left behind while his eyes and brain took in the situation outside.

 _Mortu's estimate is off. I'd say more like eighty or a hundred of them. Looks like they're not taking hostages yet, but if they don't get what they want, they probably will._

 _I'm not letting that happen._

 _Okay. Here we go._

The systems purged, Donatello shut down the lecture hall's computer. Then he launched himself over the crowd and ran up the slanted floor to the main door where Leatherhead held it closed. There had been no attempt to breach the lecture hall from the other side yet, but Don knew it was coming.

"Do you have a plan?" Leatherhead asked as soon as he arrived.

"Yes, but you're not going to like it."

"Tell me anyway, my brother, and I'll dislike it later."

Don huffed a laugh. "Look, they're almost certainly after me, and even if they aren't now, they were before. I can buy some time for people to get out of here if I go distract them and play Follow the Bouncing Turtle."

"It's too dangerous." Leatherhead shook his head. "Even you cannot fight so many."

"I don't have to fight them," Don said. "I just have to avoid them and lead them away from where everybody else is trying to get out."

"Donatello…" Leatherhead trailed off, unsure what to say other than to disapprove.

But Don simply looked at him, eyes steady and clear. There was no sorrow in them, no desperation, no defeat. There was no death-wish in his soul.

Only a burning desire to protect those who could not protect themselves.

Leatherhead sighed. "Very well. But I will be tracking you through the building. The instant this room is emptied, I will come to join you."

Don nodded and shot him a quick grin. "Okay. Just make sure everybody gets clear, okay?"

Leatherhead spared a moment to pull Donatello into a crushing hug. "Take care of yourself, my friend. And watch your back."

Don coughed as the air was forced from his lungs, but he thumped Leatherhead's shoulder in return. "Don't worry. They'll have to watch _their_ backs."

Leatherhead released him and met Don's grin.

"Besides." Don's smile went downright wicked. "It's been forever since I've had a real challenge."

"Go, then, and teach those terrorists what it means to threaten our home."

"I will." Don gave him one last nod and slipped out the doors, racing on silent feet towards the greatest concentration of attackers who weren't yet engaging Mortu's guards.

 _I promise I'll fix this, LH. I swore I would serve the Utrom as Master Yoshi did and I will._

 _This is my home now. Anybody messing with it is going to be so very sorry._

He skidded around a corner, maintaining silence even as he ran at top speed. The many, many days he had spent at the Institute served him well, as Don knew its intricate and organic layout by heart and had found more than one shortcut which he now utilized to great effect.

Donatello burst out onto a balcony that overlooked the Institute's smaller atrium – not the big one that looked out to the High Council building, but a smaller one several levels down that was used for the largest experiments and equipment. In one glance, he took in a crowd of Utrom and others all wearing a sash or belt or other swath of dark-brown material marked with a symbol in silver.

"Hey!" he yelled, waving his arms. "Don't you know it's rude to attack right in the middle of a lecture?"

One of the Utrom, slightly more orange-skinned than was usual, pointed at him. "That is the one. Acquire him at all costs!"

Donatello waited just an instant longer so that every invading eye was upon him before he bolted to one side.

 _Got their attention! Now to lead them away._

Donatello's feet led him along the path his mind had charted before he'd even left his hall, up and up in the building. All the escape routes for attendees led down and away, towards the planet's surface; therefore, he had to head up instead. He reached one of the Utrom equivalents of elevators – a thick, bio-tech tube that was more like a two-way esophagus than anything else, and dove into it.

With his lead ahead of his pursuers, Don took the time once in the tube to key in his Institute access code which had been upgraded by Mortu to Secrete Obscura levels. Then, manipulating the controls as fast as his fingers could manage, he locked the tube so that it would only go up.

 _And here's hoping nobody tries using these to evacuate even though they say Do Not Use In Event of Emergency in huge letters. It won't help if I get a bunch of civilians into this mess with me._

He spotted his pursuers rounding the corner and heading for his position just as he slammed the last command home and directed the tube to send him all the way to the roof access.

It was an odd sensation being sucked upwards by air-pressure that popped his ears, but Don was so used to it by now it was no less familiar than leaping up to his room in his apartment. But when he arrived at the corridor that led to the roof, he could not take the time to shake his head and clear out the pressure; he had to get out onto the roof before he was overwhelmed.

The door was locked, but Don's access unlocked it quickly enough that he got it shut and locked again before the first wave of attackers reached the corridor.

"Mortu!" he called through the communicator. "I'm on the roof and I think I've got about eighty unwelcome guests on their way. I could really use some backup!"

"I'm sorry," Mortu said. "A small squadron of them has claimed a couple of hostages and we can't fight back until we get them clear. I'm afraid you're on your own at least for a little while, but I'll be there as soon as I can!"

 _That was absolutely not part of the plan! I was counting on Mortu to be able to use the opening from everyone following me, but apparently not enough of them broke off their attack!_

 _Now what?_

Don backed up until he had his shell against something solid, the Institute version of a turbine, maybe. He gripped his bo tightly.

 _There are four doors to the roof that are easily accessible, and three that aren't. Seven potential points of attack. And if they've been chatting with their friends, they might come through as many as all seven._

 _Good news – the doors are narrow so they'll have to come through single-file._

 _Bad news – they're spread apart. I can't pin down one without leaving myself vulnerable to the others._

 _Okay. No matter what, I need to keep them from getting their hands on my gear. Even one or two things in this bag could give them the groundwork for some really nasty surprises._

 _I could smash everything in my bag, but there's no guarantee they won't be able to repair and reverse-engineer it._

 _I could try to wire my stuff into some kind of bomb. But I don't have anything particularly unstable to create a useful explosion._

 _I could fling my stuff off the roof and hope it gets broken on the way down, but it might not and someone could pick it up._

 _If I could get rid of my equipment bag, at least I would only have to worry about staying alive and uncaptured for the fight. With it, I have to protect it and I can't risk anything too crazy._

 _Of all the times not to have mastered that dimensional thing…_

Don let out a breath.

 _I estimate I've got about two minutes at the very least. And I'm never going to have better motivation to figure it out._

He climbed up the tallest thing on the roof and found a corner that was shadowy even in the daylight. He backed into it, hid as best he could, and closed his eyes, dropping into a tense, deep meditation.

When the doors finally gave way three minutes later, Donatello was still lost in his mind.


	6. Devil

Hey all,

So, this is the last chapter of Act 5. There's lots of things I should probably be telling you right now, but I have a fever and my brain is all swirly. I also will wait until I can think about more than 2 words at a time before I reply to you because you deserve for me to make sense and not be all fevery. Also, I need to go to bed.

Oh, I remember one thing. The themesong for Act 5 was "Learn to Fly" by the Foo Fighters.

Next week we begin Act 6 and everything changes all over again...

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 6: Devil

* * *

This was definitely not Donatello's usual mindscape. He'd dived head-first into meditation with a reckless sort of urgency before, but this was more like when Yoshi's sphere or even Master Splinter grabbed onto his spirit and carried it along in a mental whirlpool rather than arriving here under his own power. A force had pulled him here, someplace Don had not seen before. The space was amorphous and vast, like sitting in a slate-grey sky swirling with clouds.

And he sensed he was not alone.

"Hello?" he called.

The clouds tinged vaguely purple, then white, before parting and creating a small passageway.

Through which stepped...Donatello.

"Huh?"

The other Donatello raised a hand and smiled softly. "Don't be alarmed. It's me. Well, it's you, but you from...well, some other you."

Don peered more closely at him. "You're older than me."

"Yes, by a lot. No, I won't tell you how much."

"Are you from the future? I mean, my future? Or is it a different future?" He thought briefly of the future with his broken brothers and shivered.

The other Donatello shrugged. "It kind of depends on you, doesn't it? Either I'm your future or I'm the future you might have had."

Don nodded. "Okay. Then why are you here?"

"Come on, where's the fun in that?" The older Don smirked. "Can't you guess?"

"If I had to...I'd say you came to warn me."

"Obviously. But you know I can't be very specific about it."

"Temporal paradox?"

"Plus inter-dimensional paradox."

Don grimaced. "Ew. Okay. Well, go ahead and be vague, and I'll do what I can with it."

The older Don smiled. "What you can do with it is more than most people. You know that."

Don swallowed. "I do. I mean, generally. Most of the time. Thanks to Poly-Doctor Krian'daren."

"Aunt Kria, yes. We owe her a lot, don't we?"

"Yeah." Then, "Wait, you know her, too?"

"Oh, yes. And you just wait," the older Don said. "You'll owe her a lot more before this is all over."

"What's 'this,' then?"

"Well, first, you have to make a decision." The smile went out of the older Don's eyes.

"Okay."

"The future ahead of you holds...heartache. _Unbelievable_ heartache. You can't prevent that. But you have the chance to decide which heart to break."

Don frowned. "Wait. Don't you mean – ?"

"No, I really don't."

Understanding washed over Don. " _Oh shell._ "

"Yeah, _oh shell_." Older Don let out a long breath. "You can do something about it, but you'll have to balance the scales."

Don closed his eyes. "I see."

"I thought you would."

"You know what I'll do then."

"Obviously. I'm you. Or, I was something like you."

"Right. Okay. I'll do it." He opened his eyes as resolve settled deep into his soul.

The older Donatello was smiling, albeit sadly. "Then I can give you one piece of advice and one warning. And you better figure out at least part of what to do with them or you're going to be in big trouble when you wake up."

"Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. The Enlightened Ones are already through the door, aren't they?"

"And closing in on your position." The older Don nodded. "But you have a few minutes more. Time passes differently here, remember."

"Right. Well, what's the advice?"

"You and your brothers were chosen by the Ninja Tribunal because the four of you had a very unique gift. Right?"

"Sure, the spiritual as well as physical ability to battle the demon Shredder."

"Yes, and while Leo got all the credit for finding his dragon soul first, you are the one who found the meaning of the energy within you right at the beginning."

"Sure."

"There is something you and I can do, Donatello. Something even our father has not mastered. Something unique to us. I can't tell you what it is because you have to understand it on your own. But the first step along that path is the key to what you've been struggling to learn from Master Yoshi and from Byakko."

Don frowned. "That's not much of a hint."

The older Don shrugged. "You're the one on the threshold. The door's inside your heart."

"Well, I did ask for vague. Okay, so what's the warning?"

Now the older Don grew even more solemn. "Unless you want to risk everything you have ever wanted to protect, do _not_ leave the Homeworld until you can replicate Master Yoshi's mental techniques."

"Or else what?" Don wanted to know.

"Think about it. What's the _worst possible_ reason I could give you that specific warning? Now assume that to a factor of ten."

"Shell."

"Yeah." But then the older Don smiled a bit. "However, if you follow my excellent advice, it will work out okay. Not how you expect it to, probably, but okay enough."

"Thanks, I guess?"

"You're welcome. Now, I'm going to give you a little time to work on that hint because you're gonna need it in about four minutes when you wake up."

And the older Donatello began to fade.

"Hey!" Don called after him. "How come you never showed up before now? Like when the demon Shredder came, or when I was alone back at the lair? You know Aunt Kria so you're obviously me from some future point after this, not a deviation that happened a while ago. You could have warned me about stuff. You could have..."

Don sighed.

"You could have braced me for them leaving."

The older Donatello shook his head. "You wouldn't have believed me. And you still don't know everything from your own past; how could you have trusted in mine? But as much as this path has hurt us both, believe me that the alternatives are far, far worse."

A shiver trickled down Don's spine. "I don't want to believe you, but I can't really not believe myself, either."

"Good." The voice was almost gone. "Now figure out that hint and get back to kicking shell!"

"Wait!" Don yelled. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Sure!" A laugh echoed. "In the mirror someday!"

"Fat lot of help I am," Don grumbled to himself, sensing that his other self was gone beyond the hearing of it. "Okay. A few minutes."

Donatello turned over the wording of the hint in his mind several times.

"This is me, so I just have to trust that how I would say something is what I mean. But what did I say other than that I need to figure out what I've been trying to figure out. And that I can."

 _And that I can do something Master Splinter can't_ , was too scary to admit out loud.

"Wait. If I was giving myself a hint, I'd do it the same way I do computer security. It's not just about keeping the secret, but redirecting it."

 _You're the one on the threshold. The door's inside your heart._

And earlier: _Plus inter-dimensional paradox._

" _That's_ the real hint. The stuff in between was just a factual setup. And when you put that into context of everything else, either said or implied..."

Donatello's mind made an intuitive leap that could have carried him the long way across the Grand Canyon.

"If the same innate ability that made us acolytes capable of defeating the demon Shredder has some connection to interdimensional resonance, then what I've been trying to do has been all wrong. It's never been about trying to transcend dimensional boundaries through meditation or any sort of spiritual power.

"It's about bending _myself_ and letting the universe bend with me!"

Donatello's eyes snapped open.

The Institute's roof was swarming with beings, Utrom and others, all of them armed and wearing the dark sash that marked them as members of the Enlightened Ones.

 _If there was ever a more inappropriate name for a group I've never heard of it_ , Don thought sourly.

 _But at least I have at least a few seconds before they spot me up here._

 _Long enough to give it a try._

He didn't dare close his eyes again, not with enemies everywhere. Using tiny, silent motions, he pulled the bag at his waist into his hands, balling it up as tightly as he could.

 _It doesn't even matter if I can't get it back later. I can always build new equipment. The only thing that matters is them not getting ahold of any of it._

 _Okay. Now, concentrate. Focus._

 _And...now!_

Donatello couldn't have put words to exactly what he did. He simply stretched and found an unremarkable, forgettable door hidden deep in his soul. With a rush of sudden will and certainty, he shoved the door open.

And the bag in his hands vanished into a pocket dimension anchored somewhere inside his spirit.

 _I DID IT!_ He almost danced but for the presence of the Enlightened Ones.

 _Now it's time to kick shell. I'll teach these guys what happens when you interrupt my lecture, not to mention threatening my Institute!_

Don slipped from his hiding spot, moving silently and in as much cover as he could find. He was just about to start a big fight when a sound reached him from over the edge of the rooftop.

 _Perfect timing!_

Don waited until all attention was focused on the sound drawing nearer before he leaped from his spot, bellowing, "Hey! Come and get me!"

The entire crowd turned away from the roof's edge to face him, charging after a moment's surprise.

Which meant their backs were all to the spot from which Mortu on his hover-disc appeared, flanked by two dozen Utrom members of the Secrete Obscura firing stunning bolts in a hail of red light.

Donatello clashed with the nearest members of the Enlightened Ones, dodging fire from the group's Utrom members on their own discs and evading the bipedal or multi-pedal ones.

"Donatello!" Mortu called. "Are you all right?"

"The project is safe!" he yelled back. "Now it's just... _kyah!_...me versus them!"

Then he realized how very many beings were beginning to pile around him, kept back only by his whirling bo.

He amended his statement to Mortu. "But I could use some help!"

"And you shall have it!"

Leatherhead landed heavily on at least three of the beings closing in on Donatello. Don looked over his shoulder to see a far hatch broken open.

"Oh dear! I really should have stayed behind," Zayton said, pulling himself onto the roof.

"Professor, if you've got any offensive capacity, now's the time to use it!" Don yelled.

Zayton nodded. "I have a security measure which I installed for just this occasion." His Fugitoid hands retracted and were replaced with a stunning weapon like Mortu's. "I shall work my way towards you, my friends!"

Leatherhead grinned toothily at Donatello. "I believe we can finish off these miscreants before he arrives."

Joy and belonging and certainty rushed through Don, the same that had been his constant companions fighting beside his family – but now without the reminder of pain that was almost as familiar as breathing. Today, now, in this moment surrounded by terrorists who wanted to hurt the High Council, the Utrom race, the galaxy, Don's heart was alight.

He didn't need to miss his family.

His family was right here beside him.

A fierce smile splitting his face, Donatello redoubled his efforts. "A week of dishes says I can get twice as many as you counting from right now, LH!"

"You're on, my brother!" Leatherhead called back, openly laughing in delight at the expression in Donatello's eyes.

 _If I had but known that Donatello's heart could be so thoroughly eased by combating a vile threat,_ he thought between blows, _well, I would not have put him in danger, but I might have tried to protect him a bit less. It appears that Donatello's loyalties are forged in battle. Foolish of me to have missed it._

Mortu spared a moment as he looked over the battlefield, unwilling to repress the human smile that pulled at him.

He looked at where Zayton was babbling apologetically at every Enlightened One he zapped, even catching many as they fell so they could be lowered to the ground gently. _Brilliant and gentle and a little foolish, but fierce at heart defending that which he calls worthy._

He looked at Leatherhead, roaring and swinging arms and tail, using his superior strength against most of his foes to crash them into one another or knock them unconscious. But though he fought with raw power and fury, there was no madness in his eyes. _Surgery and therapy restored much that he lost, but having something to protect has given him so much more._

And he looked to Donatello, fighting with a skill rivaled only by one Guardian whom Mortu would never forget. Donatello's bo was like lightning incarnate, but more remarkable was his choice of opponents. While Zayton stunned the unwary and Leatherhead smashed the common of those on the rooftop, Donatello sought out those who were the biggest, the strongest, or who struck with the greatest skill. _He knows he can fight them as none of us can, and so he accepts the burden of Guardian without a word or a moment of hesitation, all to help us achieve the easiest victory._

 _We would all fight for the Homeworld or the Heart or in defense of that which is noble. But today, now, I can see it in their faces. They fight for each other. As I do._

 _We fight for each other. For our family._

 _Our family. The four of us, rather different from Donatello and his brothers, but some things cannot be changed. I lead and Donatello follows me willingly and with trust. Leatherhead is the most like and unlike Donatello, almost his complete opposite: raised as a thinker who chooses to fight rather than a fighter who chose science. Zayton holds us together with his own sort of humor and also his steady sense of loyalty. And Donatello supports and protects us all as only he can to give us the chance to be our best selves._

 _By the Heart itself. How extraordinary._

 _With our spirits united, the Homeworld has never been safer._

He flipped his attention back to his own agents. "I want this rooftop secured _now_! Surround on the perimeter and move in. And stay away from Astrocyte Donatello, Doctor Leatherhead, and Professor Honn'i'kedt – they don't have the time to spare to watch out for you!"

 _But of course they would. They would sooner surrender than harm an ally. That's how they are._

 _How we are._

 _Together._

-==OOO==-

The clean-up after the attack took many days and many explanations to the High Council, which eventually concluded that the events off-world had indeed been a ruse to try to remove the Guardians from their posts and open the symposium to threat.

The High Council did have some harsh words for the Secrete Obscura having failed to prevent the attack in the first place and thereby putting at risk so many innocent civilians, to say nothing of the amount of invaluable information that could have been dangerous in the hands of terrorists like the Enlightened Ones. Mortu accepted their blame calmly, even if it wasn't quite fair. But he was well familiar with their difficulty in dealing with him.

Mortu believed the High Council had been disconcerted enough with the changes to the Collective that had come in his wake; they regarded him highly, but he could understand that he was something of a thorn to them, albeit a loyal and helpful thorn most of the time.

The Utrom society was a pacifistic one, which always preferred not to fight and generally reacted with suspicion to anyone who followed a martial path. Before the human Guardians had come from Earth, the Secrete Obscura had always been a force of only Utrom, for the High Council had never trusted in anyone not accepted by the Heart, and the Heart had never passed any warriors until the humans arrived.

Privately, Mortu thought that had less to do with the Earthers' inherent worthiness and more with permission not being granted to non-Utrom warriors to approach the Heart in the first place until he forced the Council to make an exception for those of the Guardian Corps who had volunteered. After all, one doesn't willingly invite a threat into one's bloodstream. In the flows since that, more non-Utrom had approached the Heart than ever before, and more were invited to the Secrete as well. It was to the good, Mortu believed, but it did set the High Council on edge.

As welcoming and diverse as the larger Collective had become over time, when it came to the Heart, the High Council was still rather as closed and protective and wary as they had been when the Utrom had first evolved consciousness after millennia of serving as agents of the planet's self-defense.

It was an innate dichotomy like so many others among the Utrom race. Such as their pacifistic perspective, but the advanced weaponry held by the Secrete Obscura. Such as their willingness to give endlessly to those who furthered exploration and discovery, but held back from those who fought to preserve it.

They were open and welcoming – to a point. But Mortu had long been determined to see that welcome extended where it was due, and his return with the Guardian Corps had given him the opportunity to diversify the Secrete for the sake of protecting the Homeworld.

Which was, in the end, the only thing any of them cared about, and his unique skill in doing so was why the Council tolerated all the rest of Mortu's 'social innovations.'

Mortu was grateful that the navigators of his ship had joined the High Council in full upon their return to the Homeworld to offer the perspectives of those who had lived so differently for so long. Without them, Mortu wasn't sure even Donatello would have been permitted the Heart.

But he had. And he had proven its choice.

In the aftermath of the attack, Donatello explained everything he had done, primarily in securing his own information and leading the vast majority of the Enlightened force away from the escaping civilians. He chose not to inform the High Council as to how he had 'hidden' his equipment, but he did tell Mortu and Leatherhead and Zayton and Krian'daren later, complete with a demonstration.

The High Council had awarded Donatello a special commendation for his courage, selflessness, and quick-thinking. Donatello had blushed furiously, but had accepted it, as he also accepted the highest praise of the Guardians when they returned.

But once the excitement faded, life settled again, though with several unexpected changes.

Donatello was again offered an official position with both the Guardians and the Secrete Obscura, but he opted instead to remain an honorary member of each without a formal designation. He was, however, given permanent access and authority as though he held a rank nearly equal to Guardian Bonani Owens, but he rarely chose to make use of it.

With the symposium spoiled, another was scheduled for the following flow. However, Donatello's work, in addition to his heroic actions and his unusual background, made him something of a media darling who was regularly asked for interviews or to give special presentations. Before long, the Institute began producing and broadcasting smaller lectures by Donatello, soon scheduling them as often as every other quarter-rhythm, which Donatello agreed to put on only in order to encourage more people to take an unorthodox approach to science and to get more public recognition for his friends and students.

And as long as Donatello didn't _think_ about how many millions of beings were watching him after the first rhythm, he was able to pretend past his nervousness and discovered that he actually enjoyed teaching on such a wide, public scale.

Zayton had nearly ruined the entire scheme, however, when he submitted his idea for what the broadcast should be called.

"You are aware of the television program on Earth called 'Bill Nye the Science Guy.' I thought we could do something quite similar, but call it 'Donatello the Science Fellow!'"

"No way! Besides, it doesn't even rhyme in Utrom and I'm the only person who would get the joke besides you two. I don't want to have to explain it every episode when someone asks!"

"To make it rhyme in Utrom it would have to be, 'Donatello the Science Sage,' or something like that."

"That's even worse, Leatherhead. Please stop helping."

Donatello's program was geared towards explaining how to think 'outside the box' as he said when it came to experimenting and to approaching problems, so he gained an audience not only among other scientists, most of whom had been long removed from having to build sophisticated equipment from garbage, but also among children.

Soon spheres and digital communications began flooding into the Institute from all over the Collective and beyond from children and young scientists demonstrating how they had solved a problem through unconventional means. Donatello was delighted and made a point of talking about their submissions throughout his lectures.

More than teaching for the sake of teaching, Don found joy in helping others discover their own ways of thinking, of reasoning, of creatively approaching and comprehending the world.

And he was happy.

A few rhythms later, he stopped seeing Krian'daren but for once every quarter-rhythm.

As he explained to his friends, "I think...this is what happens when you lose someone you love and it leaves a hole in your heart. You never really get over the sorrow of the loss, but you start living again and you start filling the hole in with other things. And then one day you wake up and realize you haven't thought about what you lost in days, and though you miss them, you don't die from it the same way. I still...I'll always miss my brothers and Master Splinter. But...I remember the good times now. I hate the way we ended, but if we hadn't, I wouldn't be here now."

"And we want you here very much, my brother," Leatherhead assured him.

"More than I have adequate words to explain," Zayton said.

"I know," Don smiled at them.

Mortu had not spoken, but he had leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Donatello's for a long moment. It was an Utrom gesture of profound love and respect, and when he at last drew back, tears stood in the turtle's eyes.

That night, Donatello took his one picture of the Hamato Clan he had brought with him – Splinter smiling over Leo's shoulder while Mikey and Raph traded noogies and Don's arm was visible on one side of the frame clearly waving in an attempt to get them to hold still so he could take the shot – and set it in his altar beside Hamato Yoshi's name.

It ached, it truly did, but it was also a release.

Shortly thereafter, Mortu moved his living quarters into an apartment only one level up from theirs in the dormitory just so he could be closer to them. Not because he needed to protect them, but because he belonged to them. As much as he had ever belonged to his stranded crew or his own parents, he belonged to those three off-worlders who had taken the Homeworld by storm.

Meanwhile, Donatello also began sharing some of his metaphysical experiments with his friends. Try as they might, none of the other three could replicate his ability to create a controlled dimensional fold and store items within it, though they helped him study it intensely in the privacy of their apartment – Donatello did not dare reveal this ability to any but themselves and Krian'daren.

"The Enlightened Ones crashed the symposium because of my trick with digitizing physical items. Imagine who might come knocking if they knew about _this_."

He wasn't wrong, so they maintained the secret.

Working together, they learned that the dimensional fold was entirely void of air or light, though its temperature approximated Donatello's own body heat. They also learned that he could vary the size of it somewhat and could keep multiple items within it, and the one he wanted would always come to his hands when he reached for it.

While it was absolutely fascinating on one level, it was practical only as a very secure, very hidden pocket for Donatello. He never used it where others could see, but, being a ninja, he was very, _very_ good at making use of it invisibly even in a crowded room.

It also led Donatello deeper in his interest in studying interdimensional particles and travel, which he did with a sort of regretful nostalgia when he was reminded of what he had lost to another dimension. But this was one amongst a dozen interests which he vacillated between as inspiration struck.

His students at the Institute all gravitated towards one project or another, and as they did, he would let them take the lead in developing a theory or perfecting an invention and then gave them all the credit and glory for whatever they discovered or mastered.

Myle told Donatello, Mortu, Leatherhead, and Zayton that applications to the Institute by individuals as well as other science-oriented organizations wanting to partner had increased significantly, and xe credited Donatello with it all. He, humbly, only shrugged and redoubled his efforts to set a good example whether in his lab with one student or being broadcast across the galaxy before millions.

Donatello had been a part of the Homeworld for almost two and a half flows, or about eleven rhythms, and yet it seemed as if he had been among them forever.

Mortu felt like the sun had risen anew. Not just in his life, which it certainly had, but for the Homeworld and maybe even the whole Collective.

He remembered a proverb from Earth:

 _For want of a nail the shoe was lost.  
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.  
For want of a horse the rider was lost.  
For want of a rider the message was lost.  
For want of a message the battle was lost.  
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.  
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail._

And he could not help but think that perhaps Donatello was the horseshoe nail the universe had been waiting to slot into place.

Later, much later, he would think on that proverb again with a keener, darker sense not of how a horseshoe nail could mean so much, but of the fragility of a system that relies so totally upon a single nail.

-==OOO==-

Donatello was training in the Guardians' dojo one mid-morning during his twelfth rhythm on the Homeworld when the wall above the entrance flashed red – an emergency incoming message. All activity halted at once.

A moment later, Mortu appeared on the screen that was otherwise just a part of the wall.

"Guardians, there has been an attack on an outpost at the edge of the Collective near Federation space. I will be leading the Secrete to attempt to retrieve any survivors. I must call upon you to take up the guardianship of the Homeworld in our absence."

Bonani gave him a brief bow. "Good hunting, Mister Mortu. We will protect the Homeworld faithfully."

"I know you will." Then Mortu's eyes turned to where Donatello stood. "Donatello, you may join me if you wish, or you may remain behind with the Guardians. Either group would gladly welcome your help."

Don hesitated for just a moment. "I'm...not ready to leave the Homeworld yet, Mortu. I'll stay and help however I can, though." He looked into Mortu's eyes with concern. "You'll be safe, right?"

"I do not know," Mortu said. "We go by teleportal within the hour. If there are survivors, we will send them back the same way."

Don nodded. "Then I'd like to help with that part. I can take some of what I've been working on to make the teleportal a little more stable and a little quicker on the de-materialization and re-materialization processes."

"Excellent. Professor Honn'i'kedt will also be joining us. Come as quickly as you can. Your communicator has the coordinates."

"I'm on my way." Don turned and gave the Guardians a bow. "If you decide you need me, just call. But I think I can be more help with the teleportal than standing guard."

Bonani gave him a slight smile. "I understand. Go and support your friends." He turned away and began issuing orders to his Guardians.

Don darted for the door, practically throwing himself at his transport and transferring the data from his communicator to its navigation. The spot Mortu had indicated was on the edge of the zone near where the Heart was so carefully protected.

Halfway there, Don caught up to Leatherhead's own transport with Zayton hanging on for dear life.

"I am glad to see you!" the Professor yelled over the wind racing by. "Between the two of us, we will be able to ensure a safe return for Mortu's agents and anyone they can locate."

"What about you, LH?" Don called.

"I will be joining the medical personnel to help treat any injuries. I have rather some unusual experience dealing with uncommon ailments." His tone was serious but there was the sly edge of a smile on his face.

Don nodded, relief curling in his gut. _Whatever this is, we'll face it together._

One of Mortu's lieutenants met the three at the entrance. "Follow quickly," xe said. "We are assembling the teams now."

Leatherhead ran alongside Donatello and Zayton until they reached a junction in the corridor down which were the medical facilities, where he left them with a quick grip on Don's arm and a fierce, "Good luck."

Don and Zayton continued on to a large chamber very like the one Don remembered from the TCRI building in New York where their own teleportal had been. Where he had, he recalled, gotten a taste first-hand that the pacifistic Utrom shot a mean stunning beam. He was glad of it as he watched groups of Utrom form up.

He was surprised that about half the force were wearing the robo-organic bodies the Utrom had employed on earth to blend in.

Mortu emerged from a door behind them wearing a suit of his own. When he saw Don's expression, he said, "The bipedal form has the advantage of limbs not concerned with locomotion. If there are Utrom or others who are injured, we will be able to carry them to safety with less likelihood of further injury."

It was all so like the TCRI building, Don felt cold in his chest. Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed for Mortu's suit's arm. "You'll be okay, right?"

Mortu made a human smile. "Yes, I promise. Zayton has helped us refine these suits and added several new abilities which will ensure we can protect one another. I may not return for some time as I coordinate the rescue efforts, but I will return to you in the end."

Don let out a breath. "Okay."

"Come, Donatello," Zayton said. "Let us make their journey a bit easier."

The Utrom who were at the teleportal controls moved away and Zayton and Don took their place. The pair of them began coding almost in sync, adjusting the teleportal's function and making it more efficient. Don pulled down some of his research from where he kept it on a secured network and patched it in, allowing the teleportal to read what it was transporting through his digitalization process much more quickly than its purely organic scan.

Zayton then plugged his consciousness into the system itself and checked it for errors. He could read programming at the speed of unconscious thought, and so could ensure that nothing had been garbled in their haste that might have dangerous consequences.

"All right," Zayton said a moment later, pulling back into his Fugitoid body. "I believe we are ready for transmission."

Mortu stepped onto the pad. "Rather than wait for signals from us, retrieve whatever is at these same coordinates in half an hour. After that, unless I send word otherwise, do so every ten minutes."

"Understood," Don said.

"Let's go," Mortu called. The assembled Utrom made their way onto the pad to join him.

"Transporting now," Zayton said, and keyed in the commands.

The entire group vanished in brilliant blue light.

Don couldn't just sit there and stare at an empty pad for half an hour, so he turned to the Utrom lieutenant who had guided them.

"Can you arrange for some supplies to be brought here? And a medical team? I don't want them to send someone back and have us scrambling."

"Good thinking," xe said. "I will do both at once. Are there any supplies you are specifically requesting?"

"Well, some ropes, maybe, though I know they have some of that with them. Maybe some laser cutting tools, in case someone is trapped."

"What they have in their robo-organic bodies is not strong enough to cut through space-worthy metal," Zayton added, "so a stronger unit could be valuable."

"And be ready to grab more stuff," Don said. "If they come back the first time and need something, we'll want to be able to lay hands on it quickly."

Xe moved away on xyr disc at its best speed.

"Donatello?" Zayton touched his shoulder gently.

"Yes?"

"If you are so concerned, you could go with them."

Don shook his head. "No, I really can't. I...sorta made a promise to myself. I'm not ready to leave the planet yet. Even if I wanted to, I need a lot more time first."

They fell into silence and waited for the time to expire.

After precisely half an hour, Zayton initiated the return, picking up whatever had been at the designated location.

When the first forms arrived on the pad, Don was swamped with sudden rage and even more sudden grief.

Huddled together were fifteen Utrom without suits or even hover-discs, many of whom were bleeding from wounds all over their small bodies and strange, scarred burns on their craniums. Their colors were all off, pale and blotchy.

But it was their eyes that chilled his soul.

Their eyes were glazed. Dull. Dead.

And yet they lived.

Donatello could not just stand there, so he leaped over the console to join the assembled medical staff. He found himself paired with Leatherhead, carefully lifting body after body and transferring them to the Utrom versions of gurneys.

Their skin felt cold and clammy, not warm and reassuringly solid as it should have been. And their eyes never registered the change, never saw their surroundings or their saviors.

Suddenly one of the medical staff gave a low cry.

In the center of the injured lay an infant Utrom, clearly dead.

Donatello had never seen a dead Utrom, and he knew he would never be able to forget the tiny child, no larger than a baseball, whose skin was so pale it was almost white and whose still mouth was spotted with blood.

To spare the Utrom healers who were aghast and sickened, Leatherhead himself lifted and cradled the tiny one, holding it as gingerly as if it were the Heart itself. Tears streaming from his eyes, Leatherhead placed it on the last gurney.

"Donatello." Zayton called the turtle from his heartsick shock. "We must clear the pad for more."

Don nodded, numb and furious and sad, and grabbed a huge wad of spongy material kept by the machine for just this reason. Bile rose in his throat as he wiped at the blood and grime that had come with the Utrom and now soiled the landing pad. He cleared the pad just enough that the next arrivals wouldn't have to materialize in such odium before it was time for another retrieval.

This time, a few Utrom in the bipedal suits arrived with the small cluster of injured Utrom. They, however, carried in their robo-organic arms more bodies of the dead.

And so it went for what felt to Donatello like forever. He would clear the pad only for another crowd to arrive upon it. And every single Utrom, alive or dead, bore the same burns, the same pale skin, the same bloodied wounds, and the same empty eyes.

The numbers slowed, but never was the pad empty after a transport. Even one being so injured was too many – the final tally of ninety-two was _horrific_.

At last the pad began returning more of Mortu's agents than victims, and before two hours had passed, Mortu himself returned, his eyes haunted.

"That's everyone. There's nothing else left."

Almost mechanically, Donatello cleaned the pad once more, scrubbing at it with Utrom cleaning agent that smelled like butter and which eradicated the last traces of blood and offal. He didn't have the courage in that moment to look at Mortu, or at Zayton, or at anyone else.

Don felt that if he looked to closely at anyone, his heart would shatter.

He scrubbed the pad far longer than necessary, long past when the room emptied. He scrubbed it until his fingers felt hot and raw.

But infinitely less so than his soul.

"Donatello?"

The unexpected voice made Don look up from where he had been staring at the empty pad for he had no idea how long.

"Aunt Kria?"

Her own eyes were profoundly sad. "They call me to help. Not great help I can do, though I try. Others with different practice try to help now."

"What _happened_ to them?"

She closed her eyes. "Like the Triceraton mind-reader to you, but with the end you did not. Ripping and tearing at a mind until death or madness, the brain gives way."

"Isn't there anything you can do for them?" His voice caught on a sob.

"No. Others will make a try. I…" She looked at her hands and Don could see them break out in little spots that his translator told him was her people's version of a violent shiver. "I feel their minds emptied."

"Who could do something like that?" Don's anger returned on a tide of pain. "And _why_? What's the _point_? There were _children_!"

And he started to cry in earnest.

Krian'daren perched on the edge of the teleportal pad and pulled Donatello's head into her lap where his tears fell into clothing that smelled like butter, cleaned of its own traces from what she had been doing.

Sometime later, Leatherhead and Mortu and Zayton came in. Krian'daren rose and stepped to one side.

Donatello looked up. He wanted to demand answers. He wanted to know _who_ had done this horrible thing and _why_ and what were they going to do about it and could he help them exact revenge because he needed to hurt _someone_ for all this – but the words died in his chest.

Leatherhead was crying and Mortu looked wretched and more unhinged than Donatello had ever seen the always-steady Utrom.

So he shuffled forward and put his arms around Mortu, no longer encased in a suit, and pulled him to his plastron as he would have a child. And Leatherhead put his big arms around them both and Zayton leaned on them.

And they cried together.

They let grief and horror and fury and sorrow thunder through them all and Krian'daren gave them privacy for it; there was nothing she could do for them that they were not already doing for one another. Later, another day, yes, she would be there.

But for now, the best help was their family.

-==OOO==-

Donatello didn't have the heart to try meditating with Yoshi's sphere that day. In fact, he and Leatherhead and Zayton, once dismissed after doing all they could for the victims, had returned to their quarters despondently. They barely spoke and no one suggested dinner.

Finally there came a point when Leatherhead's fury overrode his sorrow and he demolished the furniture in his own room, roaring a desperate sort of rage. Zayton and Donatello let his frenzy run its course, not interfering. When Leatherhead's energy faded and he fell to his knees amidst the rubble of his room, Zayton wordlessly offered him a sedative and he accepted it.

Donatello carefully supported him from his room to the couch where he piled his friend high with blankets and sat beside him until Leatherhead succumbed to the medically-induced sleep. Zayton offered Donatello a sedative as well, but he shook his head. Though Don knew sleep would be elusive at best, he wanted to face it clear-minded.

When he trudged up to his own room and shut the door, the dark sky over the Homeworld could not hope to match the shadow in his own heart.

Donatello curled up in his bed and let its warming wash over him. He pushed his pillow out of its place and drew it into his arms, curling around it as tightly as he could and pulling the blanket up so it covered him completely. Tears came, and Don let them. But he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even.

After endless breaths in and out – Don didn't bother to count because what was the point? – he slid into a deeper, quieter darkness.

 _My son._

The darkness spun and Donatello saw an image of Splinter hovering in the void before him.

"My son?" Splinter spoke. "Are you well?"

Don shook his head. He would have closed his eyes but it wouldn't block out the vision. "No."

"Come to me, my son," Splinter said, his voice low and tender. "Come. Let me ease your pain."

Don looked away. "You can't. You're not real, you're not here, and it doesn't matter. You're gone."

Splinter frowned. "I am not gone, Donatello. I am here."

Don heaved a sigh. "No, you aren't. You're just a manifestation of my psyche trying to deal with what happened." But he looked up. "I'll go see Aunt Kria tomorrow if she's not too busy. And I'll cancel my classes. I'm pretty sure this means I need some time off."

"My son, I do not understand."

Don shrugged. "My unconscious is trying to help me realize that I need time to get over what happened today. That I need to take it easy, the way you would take care of me before."

"I am not in your mind, Donatello. I am here."

He actually gave a sad bark of laughter. "Well, you've got bad timing then."

"You don't believe me?"

"Of course not. Even with the time differential, if you were going to come, you'd have come long ago. Apparently I _really_ need to see Aunt Kria. I'm more messed up than I thought."

"Donatello."

" _No_." Don's head came up and he balled his fists. "I got the message, okay? I'm done with this dream. Let's just bring on the nightmares that make sense and not this one that isn't helping."

Splinter reached a hand towards Donatello, but Don's own hands came up, too. A light ignited between his warding hands and spread into a bright shield around him. Splinter was pushed back.

"My son!"

Don's head tipped to one side. "I wonder if today's trauma shook something else loose. Is that what you're trying to tell me? I've never manifested energy in a dream like this before."

"I am not trying to tell you anything of the sort."

"Well, whatever you're not trying to do, it's working. So thanks for that part." Don actually bowed slightly. "It was good to see you, Sensei, even if you're not real."

"My son, I _am_ real!"

The light around Donatello grew as he focused upon it, and he let it carry him out of the dream and into the next one. It was filled with dead eyes and Utrom corpses, but that much was expected and that made it something of a relief.

He woke before dawn when he could endure no more dreams and sent a message to Krian'daren for an appointment as soon as she could make time. Then he went downstairs and helped Professor Honn'i'kedt make breakfast.

The sun came up and Leatherhead rose and the three of them began the journey back to their lives with a new weight in their hearts.

-==OOO==-

Several days later, Mortu joined them for breakfast.

"The time has come to return those who did not survive to the Heart," he said. "You are all welcome to join the procession if you think it would help you deal with the ordeal."

"Utrom funeral processions carry the deceased to the Heart," Leatherhead said for Donatello's benefit. "Each body is carried in separately and the Heart absorbs it. Whoever accompanies the body is said to receive some comfort from the Heart for their loss."

Zayton looked at Mortu. "All those who were lost have their own bereaved to carry them, do they not?"

"There are far more volunteers than there are deceased, yes," Mortu said, "but any number may join the procession."

Don bowed his head. "It's the least I can do, anyway. We don't even know what did this and we can't help the ones who are barely alive. I'd...like to honor them."

The funeral began at nightfall.

There were dozens of Utrom and others, including Krian'daren, who gathered in a large bus-like transport that could carry them to the entrance to the Heart. Donatello tried hard not to look at the dark purple shrouds over each body, especially the tiniest ones. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the people he knew.

Zayton was quiet, his Fugitoid body giving away nothing. Leatherhead stood close to a few Utrom who had been on Earth, speaking in low tones. Many Guardians were present, acting as an honor guard for the fallen. Krian'daren was counselling a distraught family member.

And Mortu…

 _He knows something_ , Don realized, seeing a familiar, angry gleam in his friend's eye. _I said today that we didn't know what did this...but I wonder if that's true._

A new determination grew deep in his heart.

 _I'll find out. I'll find out what did this and why and I'll stop it. No matter what it takes._

 _This is my world and I will protect it._

 _Whatever hurt these Utrom – hurt children! – is going to find out what happens when you go up against a ninja turtle with practice taking bad guys apart!_

At the entrance to the Heart, the group moved slowly down the circular passage. As they did, they broke into smaller formations, crowding around one body or another. Don split from his friends and joined a group at the back – three Utrom and one Guardian to escort a purple-shrouded form.

He watched as each group approached the Heart, watched as all but two of the Guardians stepped aside and did not enter with the other mourners. Watched haunted, grieving beings go in and come out with a shade of relief cast over their sorrow.

When his turn came, he followed the three Utrom carrying the litter with the body, nodding in understanding as the Guardian beside him did not approach the entrance. The three Utrom who held the litter with their fallen balanced upon their heads did not ask Don to take it, though he would have had an easier time carrying it than they; he simply remained beside them as they entered.

The Heart washed over him.

Love and grief as fierce as a lightning bolt.

Understanding and support a broad ground upon which to stand when all seemed shaky and impermanent.

Sorrow measured in stars and comfort in oceans.

And gratitude, profound and endless, that this one lost had been returned.

Donatello couldn't have said if he was shouting and screaming or crying or raging, but it didn't matter. He was cradled in the embrace of something beyond his understanding, something that knew him and cherished him and held him more securely than the shell on his back.

And somewhere in that wonder, beside the growing seed of peace it planted, came something else.

Something that stayed with Don long after he left the Heart chamber and returned to the surface.

Something that felt like trust and attachment, but also felt like concern. Something that felt prescient and yet ancient.

It had no words, yet Don could feel what they would have said.

 _I am with you. Go without fear._

Donatello didn't quite know where he was going, but it didn't matter. Whatever had caused this devastation, whatever was behind the attack on the Utrom outpost, Donatello _would_ bring it down.

And if the Heart knew that, had read that desire in his heart and accepted it, it meant he was on the right path.

All there was left to do was follow it.

-==OOO==-

Less than a rhythm after the funeral, Donatello walked into Myle's office at the Institute.

"I'd like to request a brief leave of absence, if I may," he said.

Xe looked at him with curiosity. "May I ask why?"

"There's something I've been working on. I want to follow up a lead, but it requires going off-world. And I don't know how long I'll need, so I was going to take a ship rather than try to talk Mortu into giving me clearance for a teleportal."

"Is it so important that you must leave your duties here?" xe asked.

Don's face went still and solemn. "It is. It really is. I can't tell you what, though. It's...personal."

Myle was well aware of Donatello's history and accepted his explanation without prying further. "Very well. I will ask Zayton and Leatherhead to step in to cover your work if that is all right with you?"

"Sure. And I had an idea for the lectures," Don said. "I was thinking that I would like to partner up each of my students with one of the younglings that submitted a project to me. They can work on something together and then present it during the normal lecture broadcast."

Myle seized onto the idea. "That's a wonderful thought, Donatello. And it will encourage yet more interest across the Collective. Do you have some pairings already selected?"

"Yes. I'll send you the list after I talk to my students. I want to make sure they're okay with it as well. I mean, I know they will be, but I haven't asked them yet." He smiled shyly. "They've all wanted to help out with the lectures and they deserve the chance to be in the spotlight for once."

"Very well. Send me your proposal when you are ready. And Donatello?"

"Yes, Myle?"

"I hope you find whatever it is you are seeking, my friend."

Don bowed to xyr. "Thank you. I hope so, too."

-==OOO==-

Donatello set off in a private spacecraft loaned from the Collective's communal fleet twelve days later – leaving a sizeable crowd behind.

Besides his family, Krian'daren, Leatherhead's parents, most of the Guardians, all of his students, and many of his friends from the Institute appeared at the launchpad to see him off. Donatello was obliged to work his way through the crowd saying goodbye and thanking everyone for their well-wishes before he made it to the cockpit hatch.

The four standing beside it had engaged in lengthy arguments with Donatello – wanting to know exactly where he was going and why, but he never budged. He only told them that it was a journey he needed to take and take alone, and that they must trust him. And though three of the four were legally Donatello's guardians and could prevent him from leaving the Homeworld unaccompanied, in the end they agreed to let him go.

But it was not precisely easy for them to do so now that the moment had arrived.

"Are you certain you are confident piloting this craft, my boy?" Zayton asked with an audible trace of nervousness. "I am still willing to accompany you on your mysterious errand."

Don smiled at him. "I've been studying it and practicing with it for days. I'll be fine, Professor. But thank you for worrying."

"We will check in with you every day to ensure you are safe," Mortu said. "And I will be tracking your course."

"That's fine. I appreciate that you'll be watching out for me, Mortu." He bowed and was only a little surprised when Mortu leaned forward to press their foreheads together once more.

Krian'daren took both of Donatello's hands in hers. "Protect your heart, young one. It is less easy to fix than a mind, but I will fix all if you return poorly." She gave him a smile. "But do not return poorly. Only return."

"I promise," he told her, squeezing her hands.

Last, he turned to Leatherhead.

Before Donatello could speak, Leatherhead swept him into a huge hug. "Be safe, my friend. We will not know peace until you return to us."

Don nodded and fought a sudden onset of tears. "I know. I'll feel better when I'm home, too."

Leatherhead set him back on the ground and held his shoulders, peering deeply into his eyes. "I do not have a good feeling about you going alone, but that could simply be because I worry for you."

"I know." Don smiled around a wobbly lump in his throat. "Thank you, Leatherhead. For everything. For being my family and giving me a home." He gulped. "I promise I'll come back to it as soon as I can."

"I will hold you to that, my brother."

Finally Donatello stepped away, giving one last, watery smile and wave to those who had gathered before he climbed aboard. He spared barely a glance to the supplies stacked up in the little cabin aft of the cockpit – everything he really needed or didn't dare risk being separated from was safe in his pocket dimension.

Don waited until his friends and family had cleared the pad before he fired up the engine.

When he turned his gaze to the sky and the stars beyond, he took a deep breath.

"Here goes everything."

And he blasted off without ever looking back.

-==OOO==-

End of Act 5

-==OOO==-


End file.
